
Class _JjCj^ci2. 
Book. 'A 



()opiglitI?iM 



2'. 



0fiESiItIGUT DEPOSQ^ 



RAMBLES ON THE RIVIERA 



WORKS OF 

FRANCIS MILTOUN 

^■«^ 

T/ie following, each j vol., library i2mo, cloth, 
gilt top, profusely illustrated. %2^o 

Rambles on the Riviera 

Rambles in Normandy 

Rambles in Brittany 

The Cathedrals and Churches of the Rhine 

The Cathedrals of Northern France 

The Cathedrals of Southern France 

The Cathedrals of Italy {in preparation) 



The following, i vol., square octavo, cloth, gilt 
top, profusely illustrated. $j-00 

Castles and Chateaux of Old Touraine 
and the Loire Country 



L. C. PAGE l^ COMPANY 

New England Building, Boston, Mass. 



/ 




Rambles 

on the 

RIVIERA 

Being some account of journeys made en automobile 

AND THINGS SEEN IN THE FAIR LAND OF PrOVENCE 

By Francis Miltoun 

Author of " Rambles in Normandy," " Rambles in Brittany," 
" Castles and Chateaux of Old Touraine," etc. 

With Many Illustrations 
Reproduced from paintings made on the spot 

By Blanche McManus 




Boston 

L. C. PAGE & COMPANY 

1906 



IDSRARY of C0K6RE3S 
Two Cooip? Received 

AUG 2'Y 1906 

CoD>titiu tntry 
CtAS^ CL >^5^c, No, 






Copyright, igo6 

By L. C. Page & Company 
(incorporated) 

All rights reserved 



First Impression, July, 1906 



COLONIAL PRESS 

Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds <5r» Co. 

Boston, U.S.A. 



APOLOGIA 



This book makes no pretence at being a work 
of historical or archaeological importance ; nor 
yet is it a conventional book of travel or a 
glorified guide-book. It is merely a record of 
things seen and heard, with some personal ob- 
servations on the picturesque, romantic, and 
topographical aspects of one of the most varied 
and beautiful touring-grounds in all the world, 
and is the result of many pleasant wanderings 
of the author and artist, chiefly by highway 
and byway, in and out of the beaten track, 
in preference to travel by rail. 

The French Eiviera proper is that region 
bordering upon the Mediterranean west of the 
Italian frontier and east of Toulon. Nowa- 
days, however, many a traveller adds to the 
delights of a Mediterranean winter by breaking 
his journey at one or all of those cities of cele- 
brated art, Nimes, Aries, and Avignon; or, if 
he does not, he most assuredly should do so, 
and know something of the glories of the past 



vi Apologia 

civilization of the region "which has a far' more 
aesthetic reason for being than the florid Casino 
of Monte Carlo or the latest palatial hotel 
along the coast. 

For this reason, and because the main gate- 
way from the north leads directly past their 
doors, that wonderful group of Provengal cities 
and towns, beginning with Aries and ending 
with Aix-en-Provence, have been included in 
this book, although they are in no sense " re- 
sorts," and are not even popular ^' tourist 
points," except with the French themselves. 

Particularly are the byways of Old Provence 
unknown to the average English and American 
traveller; the wonderful Pays d 'Aries, with St. 
Eemy and Les Baux; the Crau; that fascinat- 
ing region around the Etang de Berre; the 
coast between Marseilles and Toulon (and even 
Marseilles itself) ; the Estaque ; Les Maures ; 
and the Esterel ; and yet none of them are far 
from the beaten track of Eiviera travel. 

Of the region of forests and mountains that 
forms the background of the Riviera resorts 
themselves almost the same thing can be said. 
The railway and the automobile have made 
it all very accessible, but ninety per cent., doubt- 
less, of the travellers who annually hie them- 
selves in increasing numbers to Cannes, Nice, 



Apologia vii 

Monte Carlo, and Menton know nothing of that 
wonderful mountain country lying but a few 
miles back from the sea. 

The town-tired traveller, for pleasure or edi- 
fication, could not do better than devote a part 
of the time that he usually gives to the resorts 
of convention to the exploring of any one of a 
half-dozen of these delightful petits pays: Avi- 
gnon and Vaucluse, with memories of Petrarch 
and his Laura ; the pebbly Crau, south of Aries ; 
and the fringe of delightful little towns sur- 
rounding the iStang de Berre. 

Any or all of these will furnish the genuine 
traveller with emotions and sensations far more 
pleasurable than those to be had at the most 
blase resort that ever opened a golf-links or 
set up a roulette-wheel, which, to many, are 
the chief attractions (and memories) of that 
strip of Mediterranean coast-line known as the 
Eiviera. 

The scheme of this book had long been 
thought out, and much material collected at odd 
visits, but at last it could be delayed no longer, 
and the whole was threaded together by hun- 
dreds of miles of travel, en automobile, through 
the highways and byways of the region. 

The pictures were made '' on the spot," and, 
as living, tangible records of things seen, have, 



viii Apologia 

perhaps, a quality of appealing interest that is 
not possessed by the average illustration. 

The result is here presented for the value 
it may have for the traveller or the stay-at- 
home, it being always understood that no great 
thing was attempted and little or nothing pre- 
sented that another might not see or learn for 
himself. 

The reason for being, then, of this book is 
that it does give a little different view-point 
of the attractions of Maritime Provence and 
the Mediterranean Riviera from that to be 
hitherto gleaned in any single volume on the 
subject, and as such it is to be hoped that it 
serves its purpose sufficiently well to merit con- 
sideration. F. M. 

Ch^tbauneuf-les-Mabtiguks, January, 1906. 



v6^^ 



Apolc 


• GIA 


PAGE 

V 




PART I. 




CHAPTER 




I. 


A Plea for Provence 


3 


II. 


The Pays d'Arles 


24 


III. 


St. Ri^MY DE Provence 


42 


IV. 


The Crau and the Camargue 


56 


V. 


Martigues : The Provenqal Venice . 


70 


YI. 


The l^TANG DE Berre 


87 


VII. 


A Seascape : From the Rh6ne to Mar- 






seilles 


107 


VIII. 


Marseilles — Cosmopolis .... 


122 


IX. 


A Ramble with Dumas and Monte Cristo 


144 


X. 


Aix - en - Provence and About There 
PART 11. 


156 


I. 


Marseilles to Toulon 


177 


II. 


Over Cap Sici:^ 


202 


III. 


The Real Riviera 


226 



X 



Contents 



CHAPTER PAGE 

IV. HyJires and Its Neighbourhood • . . 239 

V. St. Tkopez and Its " Golfe "... 254 

VI. Fri^jus and the Corniche d'Or . . . 271 

VII. La Napoule and Cannes .... 292 

VIII. Antibes and the Golfe Jouan . . • 305 
IX. Grasse and Its Environs . . . .319 

X. Nice and Cimiez . . . . . . 330 

XL Villefranche and the Fortifications . 348 

XII. Eze and La Turbie 359 

XIII. Old Monaco and New Monte Carlo . . 370 

XIV. Menton and the Frontier . . „ . 398 

Appendices 409 

Index ,,.,,... 431 




PAGE 

On the Riviera ..... Frontispiece 

"It was September, and it was Provence " facing 8 

A Young Arlesienne .... facing 36 

Abbey of Montmajour and Vineyard ... 39 

Baker's Tally - sticks 48 

St. R:^my ....... facing 48 

A Panetiere ........ 52 

The Bulls of the Camargue 59 

Les Saintes Maries facing 60 

Eglise de la Madeleine, Martigues . facing 70 

House of M. Ziem, Martigues . . facing 74 

Martigues 77 

Loup 86 

IsTRES facing 92 

The Kilometre West of Salon .... 102 

BoucHES - Du- Rhone to Marseilles (Map) . . 108 

Fos-sur-Mer Ill 

Chateauneuf facing 112 

Roadside Chapel, St. Pierre ..... 114 

Flower Market, Cours St. Louis .... 129 



Xll 



List of Illustrations 



A Cabanon .... 
Marseilles in 1640 (Map) 
Notre Dame de la Garde and the 

Marseilles .... 
Environs of Marseilles (Map) 
Chateau d'If .... 

Les Pennes 

roquevaire 

Convent Garden, St. Zacharie 
Marseilles to Toulon (Map) . 

Cassis 

La Ciotat and the Beg de l'Aigle 

St. Naz aire - du - Var 

Fishing - boats at Tamaris 

In Toulon's Old Port 

Toulon to Fr^jus (Map) . 

In Les Maures .... 

Comparative Theometric Scale 

The Terrace, Monte Carlo . 

The Peninsula of Giens . 

Ruined Chapel near St. Tropez 

Fr^jus to Nice (Map) 

St. Raphael .... 

Maison Close, St. Raphael 

On the Corniche d'Or 

Offshore from Agay 

On the Golfe de la Napoule 

Cannes and Its Environs (Map) 

JouAN- les -Pins 

Antibes and Its Environs (Map) 

St. Honorat 

Flower Market, Grasse . 

GOURDON .... 

Nice to Vintimille (Map) 

A N1501S .... 



Harbour op 
facing 



facing 



facing 
facing 



facing 

facing 

facing 
facing 
facing 



facing 

facing 
facing 
facing 



facing 

facing 
facing 
facing 



facing 



PAGE 

134 
141 

14» 

150 

ISO-' 

160 

166 

170 

176 

180 

185 

198 

208 

212 

220 

222 

230 

234 

242 

258 

277 

278 

280 

284 

286 

292 

301 

306 

313 

317 

322 

328 

331 

334 



List of Illustrations xiii 

PAGE 

Nice faciag 338 

Olive Pickers in the Var . . . facing 344 

Environs of Nice (Map) 345 

Cap Ferrat facing 348 

Villa op Leopold, King op Belgium . . . 356 

EzE . 360 

Augustan Trophy, La Turbie .... 364 

A RoQUEBRUNE DooRWAY .... facing 368 

Monte Carlo and Monaco (Map) .... 371 

The Game 383 

Overlooking Monaco and Monte Carlo facing 390 

The Ravine of Saint Di^vote, Monte Carlo, facing 396 

Pont Saint Louis 406 

409 
411 



The Provinces op France (Map) . 

The Ancient Provinces of France (Map) 

Ensemble Carte de Touring Club de France 

(Map) 

The " Taride " Maps 
Three Riviera Itineraries (Maps) 
Comparative Metric Scale (Diagram) 
The Log op an Automobile 



420 
421 
423 
427 
429 



PART I. 
OLD PROVENCE 



RAMBLES ON 
THE RIVIERA 



CHAPTER I. 

A PLEA FOR PROVENCE 

'' A Valence, le Midi commence! " is a say- 
ing of the French, though this Rhone-side city, 
the Julia-Valentia of Roman times, is in full 
view of the snow-clad Alps. It is true, how- 
ever, that as one descends the valley of the 
torrential Rhone, from Lyons southward, he 
comes suddenly upon a brilliancy of sunshine 
and warmth of atmosphere, to say nothing of 
many differences in manners and customs, 
which are reminiscent only of the southland 
itself. Indeed this is even more true of Orange, 
but a couple of scores of miles below, whose 
awning-hung streets, and open-air workshops 
are as brilliant and Italian in motive as Tus- 

3 



Rambles on the Riviera 



cany itself. Here at Orange one has before 
him the most wonderful old Roman arch out- 
side of Italy, and an amphitheatre so great 
and stupendous in every way, and so perfectly 
preserved, that he may well wonder if he 
has not crossed some indefinite frontier and 
plunged into the midst of some strange land 
he knew not of. 

The history of Provence covers so great a 
period of time that no one as yet has attempted 
to put it all into one volume, hence the lover 
of wide reading, with Provence for a subject, 
will be able to give his hobby full play. 

The old Roman Provincia, and later the medi- 
aeval Provence, were prominent in affairs of 
both Church and State, and many of the mo- 
mentous incidents which resulted in the found- 
ing and aggrandizing of the French nation had 
their inception and earliest growth here. There 
may be some doubts as to the exact location 
of the Fosses Mariennes of the Romans, but 
there is not the slightest doubt that it was 
from Avignon that there went out broadcast, 
through France and the Christian world of the 
fourteenth century, an influence which first put 
France at the head of the civilizing influences 
of Christendom. 

The Avignon popes planned a vast cosmo- 



A Plea for Provence 



politan monarchy, of which France should be 
the head, and Avignon the new Rome. 

The Eoman emperors exercised their influ- 
ence throughout all this region long before, 
and they left enduring monuments wherever 
they had a foothold. At Orange, St. Remy, 
Avignon, Aries, and Nimes there were monu- 
mental arches, theatres, and arenas, quite the 
equal of those of Rome itself, not in splendour 
alone, but in respect as well to the important 
functions which they performed. 

The later middle ages somewhat dimmed the 
ancient glories of the Romanesque school of 
monumental architecture — though it was by no 
means pure, as the wonderfully preserved and 
dainty Greek structures at Nimes and Vienne 
plainly show — and the roofs of theatres and 
arenas fell in and walls crumbled through the 
stress of time and weather. 

In spite of all the decay that has set in, and 
which still goes on, a short journey across Pro- 
vence wonderfully recalls other days. The 
traveller who visits Orange, and goes down the 
valley of the Rhone, by Avignon, St. Remy, 
Aries, Nimes, Aix, and Marseilles, will be an ill- 
informed person indeed if he cannot construct 
history for himself anew when once he is in 
the midst of this multiplicity of ancient shrines. 



6 Rambles on the Riviera 

Day by day things are changing, and even 
old Provence is fast coming under the influ- 
ences of electric railroads and twentieth-cen- 
tury ideas of progress which bid fair to change 
even the face of nature : Marseilles is to have 
a direct communication with the Rhone and the 
markets of the north by means of a canal cut 
through the mountains of the Estaque, and a 
great port is to be made of the Etang de Berre 
(perhaps), and trees are to be planted on the 
bare hills which encircle the Crau, with the idea 
of reclaiming the pebbly, sandy plain. 

No doubt the deforestation of the hillsides 
has had something to do, in ages past, with the 
bareness of the lower river-bottom of the 
Rhone which now separates Aries from the sea. 
Almost its whole course below Aries is through 
a treeless, barren plain; but, certainly, there 
is no reflection of its unproductiveness in the 
lives of the inhabitants. There is no evidence 
in Aries or Nimes, even to-day — when we 
know their splendour has considerably faded — 
of a poverty or dulness due to the bareness 
of the neighbouring country. 

Irrigation will accomplish much in making 
a wilderness blossom like the rose, and when 
the time and necessity for it really comes there 
is no doubt but that the paternal French gov- 



A Plea for Provence 



ernment will take matters into its own hands 
and turn the Cran and the Camargue into some- 
thing more than a grazing-ground for live- 
stock. Even now one need not feel that there 
is any ^' appalling cloud of decadence " hang- 
ing over old Provence as some travellers have 
claimed. 

The very best proof one could wish, that 
Provence is not a poor impoverished land, is 
that the best of everything is grown right in 
her own boundaries, — the olive, the vine, the 
apricot, the peach, and vegetables of the finest 
quality. The mutton and beef of the Crau, the 
Camargue, and the hillsides of the coast ranges 
are most excellent, and the fish supply of the 
Mediterranean is varied and abundant; loup, 
turbot, thon, mackerel, sardines, and even sole, 
— which is supposed to be the exclusive spe- 
cialty of England and Normandy, — with lan- 
gouste and coquillages at all times. No cook 
will quarrel. with the supply of his market, if 
he lives anywhere south of Lyons; and Pro- 
vence, of all the ancient gouvernements of 
France, is the land above all others where all 
are good cooks, — a statement which is not 
original with the author of this book, but which 
has come down since the days of the old regime, 



8 Rambles on the Riviera 

when Provence was recognized as "la patrie 
des grands maitres de cuisine." 

" It was September, and it was Provence," 
are the opening words of Daudet's " Port Ta- 
rascon." What more significant words could 
be uttered to awaken the memories of that fair 
land in the minds of any who had previously 
threaded its highways and byways? From the 
days of Petrarch writers of many schools have 
sung its praises, and the literature of the sub- 
ject is vast and varied, from that of the old 
geographers to the last lays of Mistral, the 
present deity of Provencal letters. 

The Loire divides France on a line running 
from the southeast to the middle of the west 
coast, parting the territory into two great divi- 
sions, which in the middle ages had a separate 
form of legislation, of speech, and of litera- 
ture. The language south of the Loire was 
known as the langue d'oc (an expression 
which gave its name to a province), so called 
from the fact, say some etymologists and phil- 
ologists, that the expression of affirmation in 
the^romance language of the south was " oc " 
or " hoc." Dialects were common enough 
throughout this region, as elsewhere in France ; 
but there was a certain grammatical resem- 
blance between them all which distinguished 




<50 



?3 



Co 

to 
?3 



•-S 



A Plea for Provence 



them from the speech of the Bretons and Nor- 
mans in the north. This southern language was 
principally distinguished from northern French 
by the existence of many Latin roots, which in 
the north had been eliminated. Foreign influ- 
ences, curiously enough, had not crept in in the 
south, and, like the Spanish and the Italian 
speech, that of Languedoc (and Provence) was 
of a dulcet mildness which in its survival to- 
day, in the chief Provengal districts, is to be 
remarked by all. 

Northward of the Loire the langue d'oeil was 
spoken, and this language in its ultimate sur- 
vival, with the interpolation of much that was 
Germanic, came to be the French that is known 
to-day. 

The Provengal tongue, even the more or less 
corrupt patois of to-day which Mistral and the 
other Felibres are trying to purify, is not so 
bad after all, nor so bizarre as one might think. 
It does not resemble French much more than 
it does Italian, but it is astonishingly reminis- 
cent of many tongues, as the following quat- 
rain familiar to us all will show: 



" Trento jour en Setfembre, 
Abrieu Jun, e Nouverabre, 
De vint-e-une n'i'a qu'un 
Lis autre n'an trento un. " 



10 Rambles on the Riviera 

An Esperantist should find this easy. 

The literary world in general has always 
been interested in the Felibres of the land of 
" la verte olive, la mure vermeille, la grappe 
de vie, croissant ensemble sous un del d'aziir," 
and they recognize the '' litterature proven- 
gale " as something far more worthy of being 
kept alive than that of the Emerald Isle, which 
is mostly a fad of a few pedants so dead to all 
progress that they even live their lives in the 
past. 

This is by no means the case with the Pro- 
vengal school. The life of the Felibres and 
their followers is one of a supreme gaiety; 
the life of a veritable pays de la cigale, the 
symbol of a sentiment always identified with 
Provence. 

Of the original founders of the Felibres three 
names stand out as the most prominent: Mis- 
tral, who had taken his honours at the bar, 
Eoumanille, a bookseller of Avignon, and 
Theodore Aubanal. For the love of their pays 
and its ancient tongue, which was fast falling 
into a mere patois, they vowed to devote them- 
selves to the perpetuation of it and the reviv- 
ing of its literature. 

In 1859 '' Mireio," Mistral's masterpiece, 
appeared, and was everywhere recognized as 



A Plea for Provence 11 

the chief literary novelty of the age. Mistral 
went to Paris and received the plaudits of the 
literary and artistic world of the capital. He 
and his works have since come to be recognized 
as '^ le miroir de la Provence." 

The origin of the word ^^ felihre " is most 
obscure. Mistral first met with it in an ancient 
Provengal prayer, the '^ Oration of St. An- 
selm," "^ erne li set felihre de la lei." 

Philologists have discussed the origin and 
evolution of the word, and here the mystic 
seven of the Felibres again comes to the fore, 
as there are seven explanations, all of them 
acceptable and plausible, although the majority 
of authorities are in favour of the Greek word 
philabros — *' he who loves the beautiful." 

Of course the movement is caused by the 
local pride of the Provengaux, and it can hardly 
be expected to arouse the enthusiasm of the 
Bretons, the Normans, or the native sons of the 
Aube. In fact, there are certain detractors 
of the work of the Felibres who profess regrets 
that the French tongue should be thus pol- 
luted. The aspersion, however, has no effect 
on the true Provengal, for to him his native 
land and its tongue are first and foremost. 

Truly more has been said and written of 
Provence that is of interest than of any other 



12 Rambles on the Riviera 

land, from the days of Petrarch to those of 
Mistral, in whose '' Eecollections, " recently 
published (1906), there is more of the fact and 
romance of history of the old province set 
forth than in many other writers combined. 

Daudet was expressive when he said, in the 
opening lines of ' ' Tartarin, " " It was Septem- 
ber, and it was Provence ; ' ' Thiers was definite 
when he said, '' At Valence the south com- 
mences; " and Felix Gras, and even Dumas, 
were eloquent in their praises of this fair land 
and its people. 

Then there was an unknown who sang: 

" The vintage sun was shining 
On the southern fields of France," 

and who struck the note strong and true; but 
again and again we turn to Mistral, whose epic, 
* ' Mireio, ' ' indeed forms a mirror of Provence. 
Madame de Sevigne was wrong when she 
said: " I prefer the gamesomeness of the 
Bretons to the perfumed idleness of the Pro- 
vengaux; " at least she was wrong in her esti- 
mate of the Provengaux, for her interests and 
her loves were ever in the north, at Chateau 
Grignan and elsewhere, in spite of her familiar- 
ity with Provence. She has some hard things 
to say also of the ^' mistral," the name given to 



A Plea for Provence 13 

that dread north wind of the Rhone valley, one 
of the three plagues of Provence ; but again she 
exaggerates. 

The ' ' terrible mistral ' ' is not always so ter- 
rible as it has been pictured. It does not al- 
ways blow, nor, when it does come, does it blow 
for a long period, not even for the proverbial 
three, six, or nine days ; but it is, nevertheless, 
pretty general along the whole south coast 
of France. It is the complete reverse of the 
sirocco of the African coast, the wind which 
blows hot from the African desert and makes 
the coast cities of Oran, Alger, and Constantine, 
and even Biskra, farther inland, the delightful 
winter resorts which they are. 

In summer the " mistral," when it blows, 
makes the coast towns and cities of the mouth 
of the Ehone, and even farther to the east and 
west, cool and delightful even in the hottest 
summer months, and it always has a great puri- 
fying and healthful influence. 

Ordinarily the " mistral " is faithful to tra- 
dition, but for long months in the winter of 
1905-06 it only appeared at Marseilles, and then 
only to disappear again immediately. The Pro- 
veuQal used to pray to be preserved from 
JEolus, son of Jupiter, but this particular sea- 
son the god had forsaken all Provence. From 



14 Rambles on the Riviera 

the 31st of August to the 4th of September it 
blew with all its wonted vigour, with a violence 
which lifted roof-tiles and blew all before it, 
but until the first of the following March it 
made only fitful attempts, many of which ex- 
pired before they were born. 

There were occasions when it rose from its 
torpor and ruffled the waves of the blue Med- 
iterranean into the white horses of the poets, 
but it immediately retired as if shorn of its 
former strength. 

" C'est humiliant/' said the observer at the 
meteorological bureau at Marseilles, as he shut 
up shop and went out for his aperitif. 

All Provence was marvelling at the strange 
anomaly, and really seemed to regret the ab- 
sence of the " mistral," though they always 
cursed it loudly when it was present — all but 
the fisherfolk of the lEtang de Berre and the 
old men who sheltered themselves on the sunny 
side of a wall and made the best use possible 
of the " cheminee du Roi Rene/' as the old 
pipe-smokers call the glorious sun of the south, 
which never seems so bright and never gives 
out so much warmth as when the '' mistral " 
blows its hardest. 

A Martigaux or a Marseillais would rather 
have the '' mistral " than the damp humid 



A Plea for Provence 15 

winds from the east or northeast, which, curi- 
ously enough, brought fog with them on this 
abnormal occasion. The cafe gossips predicted 
that Marseilles, their beloved Marseilles with 
its Cannebiere and its Prado, was degenerating 
into a fog-bound city like London, Paris, and 
Lyons. At Martigues the old sailors, those who 
had been toilers on the deep sea in their earlier 
years, told weird tales of the '' pea-soup " 
fogs of London, — only they called them 
purees. 

One thing, however, all were certain. The 
' ' mistral ' ' was sure to drive all this moisture- 
laden atmosphere away. In the words of the 
song they chanted, " On n'sait quand yWvien- 
dra." " Va-t-il prendre enfinf " " Je ne sais 
pas/' and so the fishermen of Martigues, and 
elsewhere on the Mediterranean coast, pulled 
their boats up on the shore and huddled around 
the cafe stoves and talked of the mauvais temps 
which was always with them. What was the 
use of combating against the elements? The 
fish would not rise in what is thought else- 
where to be fishermen's weather. They re- 
quired the '' mistral " and plenty of it. 

The Provence of the middle ages comprised 
a considerably more extensive territory than 
that which made one of the thirty-three general 



16 Rambles on the Riviera 

gouvernements of the ancient regime. In fact 
it included all of the south-central portion of 
Languedoc, with the exception of the Comtat 
Venaissin (Avignon, Carpentras, etc.), and the 
Comte de Nice. 

In Roman times it became customary to refer 
to the region simply as ' ' the province, ' ' and so, 
in later times, it became known as " Pro- 
vence," though officially and politically the 
Narbonnaise, which extended from the Pyre- 
nees to Lyons, somewhat hid its identity, the 
name Provence applying particularly to that 
region lying between the Rhone and the Alps. 

The Provence of to-day, and of the seven- 
teenth and eighteenth centuries, is a wider re- 
gion which includes the mouth of the Rhone, 
Marseilles, and the Riviera. It was that por- 
tion of France which first led the Roman 
legions northward, and, earlier even, gave a 
resting-place to the venturesome Grreeks and 
Phoceans who, above all, sought to colonize 
wherever there was a possibility of building up 
great seaports. The chief Phocean colony was 
Marseilles, or Massilia, which was founded 
under the two successive immigrations of the 
years 600 and 542 b. c. 

In 1150, when the Carlovingian empire was 
dismembered, there was formed the Comte and 



A Plea for Provence 17 

Marquisat of Provence, with capitals at Avi- 
gnon and Aix, the small remaining portion be- 
coming known as the Comte d 'Orange. 

Under the comtes Provence again flourished, 
and a brilliant civilization was born in the 
twelfth and thirteenth centuries which gave al- 
most a new literature and a new art to those 
glorious gems of the French Crown. The school 
of Romanesque church-building of Provence, of 
which the most entrancing examples are still to 
be seen at Aix, Aries, St. Gilles, and Cavaillon, 
spread throughout Languedoc and Dauphine, 
and gave an impetus to a style of church-build- 
ing which was the highest form of artistic ex- 
pression. 

It was at this time, too, that Provengal litera- 
ture took on that expressive form which set the 
fashion for the court versifiers of the day, the 
troubadours and the trouveres of which the old 
French chronicles are so full. The speech of 
the Provengal troubadours was so polished and 
light that it lent itself readily to verses and 
dialogues which, for their motives, mostly 
touched on love and marriage. Avignon, Aix, 
and Les Baux were very ' ' courts of love, ' ' pre- 
sided over — said a chivalrous French writer 
— by ladies of renown, who elaborated a code 



18 Eambles on the Riviera 

of gallantry and the droits de la femme which 
were certainly in advance of their time. 

The reign of Rene II. of Sicily and Anjon, 
called " lehon Roi Rene," brought all this love 
of letters to the highest conceivable plane and 
constituted an era hitherto unapproached, — as 
marked, indeed, and as brilliant, as the Renais- 
sance itself. 

The troubadours and the '' courts of love " 
have gone for ever from Provence, and there 
is only the carnival celebrations of Nice and 
Cannes and the other Riviera cities to take 
their place. These festivities are poor enough 
apologies for the splendid pageants which for- 
merly held forth at Marseilles and Aix, where 
the titled dignitary of the celebration was 
known as the '' Prince d 'Amour," or at Au- 
bagne, Toulon, or St. Tropez, where he was 
known as the '' Capitaine de Ville." 

The carnival celebrations of to-day are all 
right in their way, perhaps, but their spirit is 
not the same. "What have flower-dressed auto- 
mobiles and hare and tortoise gymkanas got 
to do with romance anyway? 

The pages of history are full of references to 
the Provence of the middle ages. Louis XI. 
annexed the province to the Crown in 1481, but 
Aix remained the capital, and this city was 



A Plea for Provence 19 

given a parliament of its own by Louis XII. 
The dignity was not appreciated Iby the inhab- 
itants, for the parliamentary benches were filled 
with the nobility, who, as was the custom of the 
time, sought to oppress their inferiors. As a 
result there developed a local saying that the 
three plagues of Provence were its parliament ; 
its raging river, the stony-bedded Durance ; and 
the '' mistral," the cold north wind that blows 
with severe regularity for three, six, or nine 
days, throughout the Rhone valley. 

Charles V. invaded Provence in 1536, and the 
League and the Fronde were disturbing influ- 
ences here as elsewhere. 

The Comte d 'Orange was annexed by France, 
by virtue of the treaty of Utrecht, in 1713, and 
the Comtat Venaissin was acquired from the 
Italian powers in 1791. 

Toulon played a great part in the later his- 
tory of Provence, when it underwent its famous 
siege by the troops of the Convention in 1793. 

Napoleon set foot in France, for his final 
campaign, on the shores of the Golfe Jouan, 
in 1815. 

History-making then slumbered for a matter 
of a quarter of a century. Then, in 1848, 
Menton and Roquebrune revolted against the 
Princes of Monaco and came into the French 



20 Rambles on the Riviera 

fold. It was as late as 1S60, however, that the 
Comte de Xice was annexed. 

This, in brief, is a resume of some of the 
chief events since the middle ages which have 
made history in Provence. 

It is but a step across country from the 
Ehone valley to Marseilles, that great south- 
ern gateway of modem France through which 
flows a ceaseless tide of travel. 

Here, in the extreme south, on the shores of 
the great blue, tideless Mediterranean, all one 
has previously met with in Provence is further 
magnified, not only by the brilliant cosmo- 
politanism of Marseilles itself, but by the 
very antiquity of its origin. East and west 
of Marseilles and the Bouches-du-Ehone is a 
region, French to-day, — as French as any of 
those old provinces of mediaeval times which 
go to make up the republican solidarity of 
modern France, — but which in former times 
was as foreign to France and things French as 
is modern Spain or Italy. 

To the eastward, toward Italy, was the an- 
cient independent Comte de Xice, and, on the 
west, Catalonia once included the region where 
are to-day the French cities of Perpignan, 
Elne and Agde. 

Of all the delectable regions of France, none 



A Plea for Provence 21 

is oi" n\()V<'. dlvorsifiod JutoroHt to the (\\v<t\\<tr 
in northorrj climes tPian '' La Provence Marj- 
tirne," that portion which irjcludes what the 
world to-day recognizes as the Jtiviera. Here 
may be found the whole galaxy of charms 
which, the i)resent-day seeker after health, edi- 
fication, and pleasure demands from the arjti- 
quarian and historical interests of old Pro- 
vence and the Koman occupation to the friv- 
olous gaieties of Nice and Monte Carlo. 

Tourists, more than ever, keey; to the beaten 
track. In one way this is readily enough ac- 
counted for. Well-worn roads are much more 
common than of yore and they are more acces- 
sible, and travellers like to keep '' in touch," 
as they call it, with such unnecessary things 
as up-to-date ijharmacies, newspapers, and 
lending libraries, which, in the avowed tourist 
resorts of the French and Italian Rivieras, are 
as accessible as they are on the Rue de Rivoli. 
There are occasional by-paths which radiate 
from even these centres of modernity which 
lead one off beyond the reach of steam-cars and 
fils telegraphiques ; but they are mostly un- 
worn roads to all except peasants who drive 
tiny donkeys in carts and carry bundles on 
their heads. 

One might think that no part of modeim 



22 Rambles on the Riviera 

France was at all solitary and unknown; but 
one has only to recall Stevenson's charming 
'* Travels with a Donkey in the Cevennes," to 
realize that then there were regions which Eng- 
lish readers and travellers knew not of, and the 
same is almost true to-day. 

Provence has been the fruitful field for anti- 
quarians and students of languages, manners, 
customs, and political and church history, of 
all nationalities, for many long years ; but the 
large numbers of travellers who annually visit 
the sunny promenades of Nice or Cannes never 
think for a moment of spending a winter at 
Martigues, the Provengal Venice, or at Nimes, 
or Aries, or Avignon, where, if the *' mistral " 
does blow occasionally, the surroundings are 
quite as brilliant as on the coast itself, the mid- 
day sun just as warm, and the sundown chill 
no more frigid than it is at either Cannes or 
Nice. 

Truly the whole Mediterranean coast, from 
Barcelona to Spezzia in Italy, together with 
the cities and towns immediately adjacent, 
forms a touring-ground more varied and inter- 
esting even than Touraine, often thought the 
touring-ground par excellence. The Provencal 
Eiviera itinerary has, moreover, the advantage 
of being more accessible than Italy or Spain, 



A Plea for Provence 23 

the Holy Land or Egypt, and, until one has 
known its charms more or less intimately, he 
has a prospect in store which offers more of 
novelty and delightfulness than he has per- 
haps believed possible so near to the well-worn 
track of southern travel. 



CHAPTER II. 

THE PAYS d'aELES 

The Pays d 'Aries is one of those minor sub- 
divisions of undefined, or at least ill-defined, 
limits that are scattered all over France. Local 
feeling runs high in all of them, and the Ar- 
lesien professes a great contempt for the Mar- 
tigaux or the inhabitant of the Pays de Ca- 
vaillon, even though their territories border on 
one another; though indeed all three join 
hands when it comes to standing up for their 
beloved Provence. 

There are sixty towns and villages in the 
Pays d 'Aries, extending from Tarascon and 
Beaucaire to Les Saintes Maries, St. Mitre, 
and Fos-sur-Mer on the Mediterranean, and 
eastward to Lambesc, the pays enveloping La 
Crau and the iStang de Berre within its imag- 
inary borders. Avignon and Vaucluse are its 
neighbours on the north and northeast, and, 
taken all in all, it is as historic and romantic 
a region as may be found in all Europe. 

24 



The Pays d'Arles 25 

The literary guide-posts tlirougliout Pro- 
vence are numerous and prominent, though they 
cannot all be enumerated here. One may wan- 
der with Petrarch in and around Avignon and 
Vaucluse; he may coast along Dante's high- 
way of the sea from the Genoese seaport to 
Marseilles ; he may tarry with Tartarin at 
Tarascon; or may follow in the footsteps of 
Edmond Dantes from Marseilles to Beaucaire 
and Bellegarde; and in any case he will only 
be in a more appreciative mood for the wonder- 
ful works of Mistral and his fellows of the Fe- 
libres. 

The troubadours and the " courts of love " 
have gone the way of all mediaeval institutions 
and nothing has quite come up to take their 
place, but the memory of all the literary his- 
tory of the old province is so plentifully be- 
strewn through the pages of modern writers of 
history and romance that no spot in the known 
world is more prolific in reminders of those 
idyllic times than this none too well known and 
travelled part of old France. 

If the spirit of old romance is so dead or 
latent in the modern traveller by automobile 
or the railway that he does not care to go back 
to mediaeval times, he can still turn to the 
pages of Daudet and find portraiture which 



26 Rambles on the Riviera 

is so characteristic of Tarascbn and the coun- 
try round about to-day that it may be recog- 
nized even by the stranger, though the inhab- 
itant of that most interesting Rhone-side city 
denies that there is the slightest resemblance. 

Then there is Felix Gras's '^ Rouges du 
Midi," first written in the Provengal tongue. 
One must not call the tongue a patois, for the 
Provengal will tell you emphatically that his 
is a real and pure tongue, and that it is the 
Breton who speaks a patois. 

From the Provengal this famous tale of 
Felix G^as was translated into French and 
speedily became a classic. It is romance, if you 
like, but most truthful, if only because it proves 
Carlyle and his estimates of the celebrated 
* * Marseilles Battalion ' ' entirely wrong. Even 
in the English translation the tale loses but 
little of its originality and colour, and it re- 
mains a wonderful epitome of the traits and 
characters of the Provengaux. 

Dumas himself, in that time-tried (but not 
time-worn) romance of " Monte Cristo," rises 
to heights of topographical description and 
portrait delineations which he scarcely ever 
excelled. 

Every one has read, and supposedly has at 
his finger-tips, the pages of this thrilling ro- 



The Pays d^Arles 27 

mance, but if he is journeying througli Pro- 
vence, let him read it all again, and he' will find 
passages of a directness and truthfulness that 
have often been denied this author — by critics 
who have taken only an arbitrary and preju- 
diced view-point. 

Marseilles, the scene of the early career of 
Dantes and the lovely Mercedes, stands out 
perhaps most clearly, but there is a wonderful 
chapter which deals with the Pays d 'Aries, and 
is as good topographical portraiture to-day as 
when it was written. 

Here are some lines of Dumas which no trav- 
eller down the Ehone valley should neglect to 
take as his guide and mentor if he " stops 
off " — as he most certainly should — at Taras- 
con, and makes the round of Tarascon, Beau- 
caire, Bellegarde, and the Pont du Gard. 

'' Such of my readers as may have made a 
pedestrian journey to the south of France may 
perhaps have noticed, midway between the 
town of Beaucaire and the village of Belle- 
garde, a small roadside inn, from the front of 
which hung, creaking and flapping in the wind, 
a sheet of tin covered with a rude representa- 
tion of the ancient Pont du Gard." 

There is nothing which corresponds to this 
ancient inn sign to be seen to-day, but any one 



28 Eambles on the Riviera 

of a dozen humble houses by the side of the 
canal which runs from Beaucaire to Aigues 
Mortes might have been the inn in question, 
kept by the unworthy Caderousse, with whom 
Dantes, disguised as the abbe, had the long 
parley which ultimately resulted in his getting 
on the track of his former defamers. 

Dumas 's further descriptions were astonish- 
ingly good, as witness the following: 

'' The place boasted of what, in these parts, 
was called a garden, scorched beneath the ar- 
dent sun of this latitude, with its soil giving 
nourishment to a few stunted olive and dingy 
fig trees, around which grew a scanty supply 
of tomatoes, garlic, and eschalots, with a sort 
of a lone sentinel in the shape of a scrubby 
pine. ' ' 

If this were all that there was of Provence, 
the picture might be thought an unlovely one, 
but there is a good deal more, though often 
enough one does see — just as Dumas pictured 
it — this sort of habitation, all but scorched to 
death by the dazzling southern sun. 

At the time of which Dmuas wrote, the canal 
between Beaucaire and Aigues Mortes had just 
been opened and the traffic which once went 
on by road between this vast trading-place 
(for the annual fair of Beaucaire, like that of 



The Pays d'Arles 29 

Guibray in Normandy, and to some extent like 
that of Nijni Novgorod, was one of the most 
considerable of its kind in the known world) 
and the cities and towns of the southwest came 
to be conducted by barge and boat, and so 
Caderousse's inn had languished from a sheer 
lack of patronage. 

Dumas does not forget his tribute to the 
women of the Pays d'Arles, either; and here 
again he had a wonderfully facile pen. Of 
Caderousse and his wife he says: 

" Like other dwellers of the southland, Cade- 
rousse was a man of sober habits and mod- 
erate desires, but fond of external show and 
display and vain to a degree. During the days 
of his prosperity, not a fete or a ceremonial 
took place but that he and his wife were par- 
ticipants. On these occasions he dressed him- 
self in the picturesque costume worn at such 
times by the dwellers in the south of France, 
bearing an equal resemblance to the style worn 
by Catalans and Andalusians. 

'' His wife displayed the charming fashion 
prevalent among the women of Aries, a mode 
of attire borrowed equally from Greece and 
Arabia, with a glorious combination of chains, 
necklaces, and scarves." 

The women of the Pays d'Arles have the 



30 Rambles on the Riviera 

reputation of being the most beautiful of all 
the many types of beautiful women in France, 
and they are faithful, always, to what is known 
as the costume of the pays, which, it must be 
understood, is something more than the coiffe 
which usually marks the distinctive dress of a 
petit pays. 

It is a common error among rhapsodizing 
tourists who have occasionally stopped at 
Aries, en route to the pleasures of the Eiviera, 
to suppose that the original Arlesien costume 
is that seen to-day. As a matter of fact it 
dates back only about four generations, and 
it was well on in the forties of the nineteenth 
century when the ruhan-diademe and the 
Phrygian coiffe came to be the caprice of the 
day. In this form it has, however, endured 
throughout all the sixty villages and towns of 
the pays. 

The ruhan-diademe, the coijfe, the corsage, 
the fichu, the jupon, and a chain bearing, usu- 
ally, a Maltese cross, all combine to set off in 
a marvellous manner the loveliness of these 
large-eyed beauties of Provence. 

Only after they have reached their thirteenth 
or fourteenth year do the young girls as- 
sume the coiffure, — when they have com- 
menced to see beyond their noses, as the saying 



The Pays d^Arles 31 

goes in French, — when, until old age carries 
them off, they are always as jauntily dressed 
as if they were toujours en fete. 

There is a romantic glamour about Aries, 
its arena, its theatre, its marvellously beautiful 
Church of St. Trophime, and much else that is 
fascinating to all travelled and much-read per- 
sons ; and so Aries takes the chief place in the 
galaxy of old-time Provencal towns, before 
even Nimes, Avignon, and Aix-en-Provence. 

Everything is in a state of decay at Aries; 
far more so, at least, than at Nimes, where the 
arena is much better preserved, and the ' ' Mai- 
son Carree " is a gem which far exceeds any 
monument of Aries in its beauty and preserva- 
tion; or at Orange, where the antique theatre 
is superb beyond all others, both in its pro- 
portions and in its existing state of preserva- 
tion. 

The charm of Aries lies in its former renown 
and in the reminders, fragmentary though some 
of them be, of its past glories. In short it is 
a city so rich in all that goes to make up the 
attributes of a '^ ville de I'art celeb re," that it 
has a special importance. 

Marseilles, among the cities of modern 
France, has usually been considered the most 
ancient; but even that existed as a city but 



32 Rambles on the Riviera 

six hundred years before the Christian era, 
whereas Anibert, a '' savant Arlesien," has 
stated that the founding of Aries dates back 
to fifteen hundred years before Christ, or nine 
hundred years before that of Marseilles. In 
the lack of any convincing evidence one way 
or another, one can let his sympathies drift 
where they will, but Aries certainly looks its 
age more than does Marseilles. 

It would not be practicable here to catalogue 
all the monumental attractions of the Aries of 
a past day which still remain to remind one 
of its greatness. The best that the writer can 
do is to advise the traveller to take his ease 
at his inn, which in this case may be either 
the excellent Hotel du Nord-Pinus — which has 
a part of the portico of the ancient forum built 
into its f agade — or across the Place du Forum 
at the Hotel du Forum. From either vantage- 
ground one will get a good start, and much 
assistance from the obliging patrons, and a 
day, a week, or a month is not too much to 
spend in this charming old-time capital. 

Among the many sights of Aries three dis- 
tinct features will particularly impress the 
visitor: the proximity of the Rhone, the great 
arena and its neighbouring theatre, and the 
Cathedral of St. Trophime. 



The Pays d 'Aries 33 

It was in the thirteenth century that Aries 
first came to distinction as one of the great 
Latin ports. The Rhone had for ages past 
bathed its walls, and what more natural than 
that the river should be the highway which 
should bring the city into intercourse with the 
outside world? 

Soon it became rich and powerful and bid 
fair to become a ship-owning community which 
should rival the coast towns themselves, and 
its '^ lion banners " flew masthead high in all 
the ports of the Mediterranean. 

The navigation of the Rhone at this time 
presented many difficulties; the estuary was 
always shifting, as it does still, though the 
question of navigating the river has been 
solved, or made the easier, by the engineering 
skill of the present day. 

The cargoes coming by sea were transshipped 
into a curious sort of craft known as an allege, 
from which they were distributed to all the 
towns along the Rhone. The carrying trade 
remained, however, in the hands of the Arle- 
siens. The great fair of Beaucaire, renowned 
as it was throughout all of Europe, contributed 
not a little to the traffic. For six weeks in 
each year it was a great market for all the 
goods and stuffs of the universe, and gave such 



34 Rambles on the Riviera 

a strong impetus to trade that the effects were 
felt throughout the year in all the neighbouring 
cities and towns. 

The Cathedral of St. Trophime, as regards 
its portal and cloister, may well rank first 
among the architectural delights of its class. 
The decorations of its portal present a com- 
plicated drama of religious figures and sym- 
bols, at once austere and dignified and yet 
fantastic in their design and arrangement. 
There is nothing like it in all France, except 
its near-by neighbour at St. Gilles-du-Rhone, 
and, in the beauty and excellence of its carving, 
it far excels the splendid fagades of Amiens 
and Reims, even though they are more exten- 
sive and more magnificently disposed. 

The main fabric of the church, and its in- 
terior, are ordinary enough, and are in no way 
different from hundreds of a similar type else- 
where; but in the cloister, to the rear, archi- 
tectural excellence again rises to a superlative 
height. Here, in a justly proportioned quad- 
rangle, are to be seen four distinct periods and 
styles of architectural decoration, from the 
round-headed arches of the colonnade on one 
side, up through the primitive Grothic on the 
second, the later and more florid variety on 
the third, and finally the debasement in Renais- 



The Pays d'Arles 35 

sance forms and outlines on the fourth. The 
effect is most interesting and curious both to 
the student of architectural art and to the lover 
of old churches, and is certainly unfamiliar 
enough in its arrangement to warrant hazard- 
ing the opinion that it is unique among the cele- 
brated mediaeval cloisters still existing. 

Immediately behind the cathedral are the 
remains of the theatre and the arena. Less 
well preserved than that at Orange, the theatre 
of the Aries of the Eomans, a mere ruined 
waste to-day, gives every indication of having 
been one of the most important works of its 
kind in Gaul, although, judging from its pres- 
ent admirable state of preservation, that of 
Orange was the peer of its class. 

To-day there are but a scattered lot of tum- 
bled-about remains, much of the structure hav- 
ing gone to build up other edifices in the town, 
before the days when proper guardianship was 
given to such chronicles in stone. A great 
porte still exists, some arcades, two lone, star- 
ing columns, — still bearing their delicately 
sculptured capitals, — and numerous ranges of 
rising banquettes. 

This old theatre romain must have been or- 
namented with a lavish disregard for expense, 
for it was in the ruins here that the celebrated 



36 Rambles on the Riviera 

Venus d 'Aries was discovered in 1651, and 
given to Louis XIV. in 1683. 

The arena is much better preserved than the 
theatre. It is a splendid and colossal monu- 
ment, surpassing any other of its kind outside 
of Eome. Its history is very full and com- 
plete, and writers of the olden time have re- 
counted many odious combats and many spec- 
tacles wherein ferocious beasts and gladiators 
played a part. To-day bull-fights, with some- 
thing- of an approach to the splendour of the 
Spanish variety, furnish the bloodthirsty of 
Aries with their amusement. There is this 
advantage in witnessing the sport at Aries: 
one sees it amid a mediaeval stage setting that 
is lacking in Spain. 

It is in this arena that troops of wild beasts, 
brought from all parts of the empire, tore 
into pieces the poor unfortunates who were 
held captive in the prisons beneath the gal- 
leries. These dungeons are shown to-day, 
with much bloodthirsty recital, by the very 
painstaking guardian, who, for an appropriate, 
though small, fee, searches out the keys and 
opens the gateway to this imposing enclosure, 
where formerly as many as twenty-five thou- 
sand persons assemble to witness the cruel sac- 
rifices. 




A Young Arlesienne 



The Pays d'Arles 37 

Tiberius Nero — a name which has come to 
be a synonym of moral degradation — was one 
of the principal colonizers of Aries, and built, 
it is supposed, this arena for his savage pleas- 
ures. In its perfect state it would have been 
a marvel, but the barbarians partly ruined it 
and turned it into a sort of fortified camp. In 
a more or less damaged state it existed until 
1825, when the parasitical structures which had 
been built up against its walls were removed, 
and it was freed to light and air for the trav- 
eller of a later day to marvel and admire. 

Modern Aries has quite another story to tell ; 
it is typical of all the traditions of the Provence 
of old, and it is that city of Provence that best 
presents the present-day life of southern 
France. 

Even to-day the well-recognized type of 
Arlesienne ranks among the beautiful women 
of the world. Possessed of a carriage that 
would be remarked even on the boulevards of 
Paris, and of a beauty of feature that enables 
her to concede nothing to her sisters of other 
lands, the Arlesienne is ever a pleasing picture. 
As much as anything, it is the costume and the 
coiffe that contributes to her beauty, for the 
tiny white bonnet or cap, bound with a broad 
black ribbon, sets off her raven locks in a be- 



38 Rambles on the Riviera 

witching manner. Simplicity and harmony is 
the key-note of it all, and the women of Aries 
are not made jealous or conceited by the chang- 
ing of Paris fashions. 

The contrast between what is left of ancient 
Aries and the commercial aspect of the modern 
city is everywhere to be remarked, for Aries 
is the distributing-point for all the products 
of the Camargue and the Crau, and the life of 
the cafes and hotels is to a great extent that 
of the busy merchants of the town and their 
clients from far and near. All this gives Aries 
a certain air of metropolitanism, but it does 
not in the least overshadow the memories of 
its past. 

In the open country northwest of Aries is 
the ancient Benedictine abbey of Montmajour, 
twice destroyed and twice reerected. Finally 
abandoned in the thirteenth century, it was 
carefully guarded by the proprietors, until 
now it ranks as one of the most remarkable 
of the historical monuments of its kind in all 
France. 

It has quite as much the appearance of a for- 
tress as of a religious establishment, for its 
great fourteenth-century tower, with its machi- 
coulis and tourelles, suggest nothing churchly, 
but rather an attribute of a warlike stronghold. 



The Pays d 'Aries 



39 



The majestic church needs little in the way 
of rebuilding and restoration to assume the 
splendour that it must have had under its 
monkish proprietors of another day. Beneath 
is another edifice, much like a crypt, but which 
expert archaeologists tell one is not a crypt in 




Abbey of Montmajour and Vineyard 

the generally accepted sense of the term. At 
any rate it is much better lighted than crypts 
usually are, and looks not unlike an earlier 
edifi.ce, which was simply built up and another 
story added. 

The remains of the cloister are worthy to 
be classed in the same category as that won- 
derful work of St. Trophime, but whether the 
one inspired the other, or they both proceeded 



40 Rambles on the Riviera 

simultaneously, neither history nor the local 
antiquaries can state. 

Besides the conventional buildings proper 
there are a primitive chapel and a hermitage 
once dedicated to the uses of St, Trophime. 
Since these minor structures, if they may be 
so called, date from the sixth century, they 
may be considered as among the oldest exist- 
ing religious monuments in France. The 
" Commission des Monuments Historiques " 
guards the remains of this opulent abbey and 
its dependencies of a former day with jealous 
care, and if any restorations are undertaken 
they are sure to be carried out with taste and 
skill. 

Near Montmajour is another religious edi- 
fice of more than passing remark, the Chapelle 
Ste. Croix. Its foundation has been attributed 
to Charlemagne, and again to Charles Martel, 
who gave to it the name which it still bears 
in commemoration of his victory over the 
Saracens. It is a simple but very beautiful 
structure, in the form of a Greek cross, and 
admirably vaulted and groined. There are 
innumerable sepulchres scattered about and 
many broken and separated funeral monu- 
ments, which show the prominence of this little 



The Pays d 'Aries 41 

commemorative chapel among those of its 
class. 

Every seven years, that is to say whenever 
the 3d of May falls on a Friday (the anni- 
versary of the victory of Charles Martel), the 
chapel become a place of pious pilgrimages 
for great numbers of the thankful and devout 
from all parts of France. 



CHAPTER III. 



ST. REMY DE PROVENCE 



St. Remy DE Provence is delightful and in- 
describable in its quiet charm. It's not so very 
quiet either — at times — and its great Fete 
de St. Remy in October is anything but quiet. 
On almost any summer Sunday, too, its cafes 
and terraces, and the numerous tree-bordered 
squares and places, and its Cours — the in- 
evitable adjunct of all Provengal towns — are 
as gay with the life of the town and the country 
round about as any local metropolis in France. 

The local merchants call St. Remy ^^ toujours 
un pays mort," but in spite of this they all 
eke out considerably more than what a full- 
blooded Burgundian would call a good living. 
As a matter of fact the population of St. Remy 
live on something approaching the abundance 
of good things of the Cote d'Or itself. There 
is perhaps nothing remarkable about this, in 
the midst of a mild and pleasant land like Pro- 
vence ; but it seems wise to state it here, for we 

42 



St. Remy de Provence 43 

know of an Englishman who stayed three days 
at St. Remy's most excellent Grand Hotel de 
Provence and complained because he did not 
get beefsteaks or ham and eggs for a single 
meal! He got carp from Vaucluse, langouste 
from St. Louis-de-Rhone, the finest sort of 
lamb (but not plain boiled, with cauliflower as 
a side dish), chickens of the real spring variety, 
or a brace of little wild birds which look like 
sparrows and taste like quail, but which are 
neither — with, as like as not, a bottle of Cha- 
teauneuf des Papes, grapes, figs, olives, and 
goat's milk cheese. Either this, or a variation 
of it, was his daily menu for breakfast or din- 
ner, and still he pined for beefsteaks I Had our 
traveller been an American he would perhaps 
have cried aloud for boiled codfish or pumpkin 
pie! 

The hotel of St. Remy is to be highly com- 
mended in spite of all this, though the writer 
has only partaken of an occasional meal there. 
He got nearer the soil, living the greater part 
of one long bright autumn in the household 
of an estimable tradesman, — a baker by trade, 
though considering that he made a great ac- 
complishment of it, it may well be reckoned a 
profession. 

Up at three in the morning, he, with the 



44 Rambles on the Riviera 

assistance of a small boy, — some day destined 
to be his successor, — puts in Ms artistic 
touches on the patting and shaping of the vari- 
ous loaves, ultimately sliding them into the 
great low-ceiled brick oven with a sort of elon- 
gated snow-shovel such as bakers use the world 
over. 

It was in his manipulating of things that 
the art of it all came in. Frenchmen will not 
all eat bread fashioned in the same form, and 
the cottage loaf is unknown in France. One 
may have a preference for a '' pain mouffle/' 
a long sort of a roll; or, if he likes a crusty 
morsel, nothing but a '' pistolet " or a 
" baton " will do him. Others will eat noth- 
ing but a great circular washer of bread — 
^' comme un rond de cuir " — or a '^ tresse/' 
which is three plaited strands, also crusty. A 
favourite with toothless old veterans of the 
Crimea or beldames who have seen seventy or 
eighty summers is the ^' chapeau de gen- 
darme/' a three-cornered sort of an affair 
with no crust to speak of. 

By midday the baker-host had become the 
merchant of the town and had dressed himself 
in a garb more or less approaching city fash- 
ions, and seated himself in a sort of back par- 
lour to the shop in front, which, however, 



St. Remy de Provence 45 

served as a kitchen and a dining-room as 
well. 

Many and bountiful and excellent were the 
meals eaten en famille in the room back of the 
shop, often enough in company with a beau- 
frere, who came frequently from Cavaillon, and 
a niece and her husband, who was an attorney, 
and who lived in a great Renaissance stone 
house opposite the fountain of Nostradamus, 
St. Eemy's chief titular deity. 

These were the occasions when eating and 
drinking was as superlative an expression of 
the joy of life as one is likely to have experi- 
enced in these degenerate days when we are 
mostly nourished by means of patent foods 
and automatic buffets. 

" My brother has a pretty taste in wine," 
says the beau-frere from Cavaillon, as he opens 
another bottle of the wine of St. Remy, grown 
on the hillside just overlooking " les antiqui- 
tes." Those relics of the Roman occupation 
are the pride of the citizen, who never tires of 
strolling up the road with a stranger, and 
pointing out the beauties of these really charm- 
ing historical monuments. Truly M. Farges 
did have a pretty taste in wine, and he had a 
cellar as well stocked in quantity and variety 
as that of a Riviera hotel-keeper. 



46 Rambles on the Riviera 

Not the least of the attractions of M. 
Farges's board was the grace with which his 
Arlesienne wife presided over the good things 
of the casserole and the spit, that long skewer 
which, when loaded with a chicken, or a duck, 
or a dozen small birds, turned slowly by clock- 
work before a fire of olive-tree roots on the 
open hearth, or rather, on top of the fourneau, 
which was only used itself for certain opera- 
tions. Baked meats and roti are two vastly 
different things in France. 

'^ Marcel, he bakes the bread, and I cook 
for him," says the jauntily coiffed, buxom lit- 
tle lady, whose partner Marcel had been for 
some thirty years. In spite of the passing of 
time, both were still young, or looked it, though 
they were of that ample girth which betokens 
good living, and, what is quite as important, 
good cooking; and madame's taste in cookery 
was as '' pretty " as her husband's for bread- 
making and wine. 

Given a casserole half-full of boiling oil 
(also a product of St. Eemy's; real olive-oil, 
with no dilution of cottonseed to flatten out the 
taste) and anything whatever eatable to drop 
in it, and Madame Farges will work wonders 
with her deftness and skill, and, like all good 
cooks, do it, apparently, by guesswork. 



St. Remy de Provence 47 

■'■ ■■■-' 

It is a marvel to the writer that some one 
has not written a book devoted to the little 
every-day happenings of the French middle 
classes. Manifestly the trades of the butcher, 
the baker, and the candlestick-maker have the 
same ends in view in France as elsewhere, but 
their procedure is so different, so very dif- 
ferent. 

It strikes the foreigner as strange that your 
baker here gives you a tally-stick, even to-day, 
when pass-books and all sorts of automatic cal- 
culators are everywhere to be found. It is a 
fact, however, that your baker does this at St. 
Eemy; and regulates the length of your credit 
by the length of the stick, a plan which has 
many advantages for all concerned over other 
methods. 

You arrange as to what your daily loaf shall 
be, and for every one delivered a notch is cut 
in the stick, which you guard as you would 
your purse; that is, you guard your half of it, 
for it has been split down the middle, and the 
worthy baker has a whole battery of these split 
sticks strung along the dashboard of his cart. 
The two separate halves are put together when 
the notch is cut across the joint, and there you 
have undisputable evidence of delivery. It's 
very much simpler than the old backwoods 



48 



Rambles on the Riviera 



system of keeping accounts on a slate, and wip- 
ing off the slate when they were paid, and it's 
safer for all concerned. Wlien you pay your 
baker at St. Remy, he steps inside your kitchen 




Baker's Tally-sticks 



and puts the two sticks on the fire, and together 
you see them go up in smoke. 

St. Eemy itself is a historic shrine, sitting 
jauntily beneath the jagged profile of the Al- 
pines, from whose crest one gets one of those 
wonderful vistas of a rocky gorge which is, 




St. Remy 



St. Remy de Provence 49 

in a small way, only comparable to the canon 
of the Colorado. It is indeed a splendid view 
that one gets just as he rises over the crest of 
this not very ample or very lofty mountain 
range, and it has all the elements of grandeur 
and brilliancy which are possessed by its more 
famous prototypes. It is quite indescribable, 
hence the illustration herewith must be left to 
tell its own story. 

Below, in the ample plain in which St. Remy 
sits, is a wonderful garden of fruits and flow- 
ers. St. Remy is a great centre for commerce 
in olives, olive-oil, vegetables, and fruit which 
is put up into tins and exported to the ends 
of the earth. 

Not every one likes olive-trees as a pictur- 
esque note in a landscape any more than every 
one likes olives to eat. But for all that the 
grayish-green tones of the flat-topped oliviers 
of these parts are just the sort of things that 
artists love, and a plantation of them, viewed 
from a hill above, has as much variety of tone, 
and shade, and colour as a field of heather or 
a poppy-strewn prairie. 

The inhabitants of most of the old-time prov- 
inces of France have generally some special 
heirloom of which they are exceedingly fond; 
but not so fond but that they will part with 



60 Rambles on the Riviera 

it for a price. The Breton has his great 
closed-in bed, the Norman his armoire, and the 
Provengal his " grandfather's clock," or, at 
least, a great, tall, curiously wrought affair, 
which we outsiders have come to designate as 
such. 

Not all of these great timepieces which are 
found in the peasant homes round about St. 
Remy are ancient; indeed, few of them are, 
but all have a certain impressiveness about 
them which a household god ought to have, 
whether it is a real antique or a gaudily painted 
thing with much brasswork and, above all, a 
gong that strikes at painfully frequent inter- 
vals with a vociferousness which would wake 
the Seven Sleepers if they hadn't been asleep 
so long. 

The traffic in these tall, coffin-like clocks — 
though they are not by any means sombre in 
hue — is considerable at St. Remy. The local 
clock-maker (he doesn't really make them) 
buys the cases ready-made from St. Claude, 
or some other wood-carving town in the Jura 
or Switzerland, and the works in Germany, 
and assembles them in his shop, and stencils his 
name in bold letters on the face of the thing 
as maker. This is deception, if you like, but 
there is no great wrong in it, and, since the 



St. Remy de Provence 51 

clock and watch trade the world over does the 
same thing, it is one of the immoralities which 
custom has made moral. 

They are not dear, these great clocks of 
Provence, which more than one tourist has car- 
ried away with him before now as a genuine 
' ' antique. ' ' Forty or fifty francs will buy one, 
the price depending on the amount of chasing 
on the brasswork of its great pendulum. 

Six feet tall they stand, in rows, all painted 
as gaudily as a circus wagon, waiting for some 
peasant to come along and make his selection. 
When it does arrive at some humble cottage 
in the Alpines, or in the marshy vineyard plain 
beside the Rhone, there is a sort of house- 
warming and much feasting, which costs the 
peasant another fifty francs as a christening 
fee. 

The clocks of St. Remy and the panetieres 
which hang on the wall and hold the household 
supply of bread open to the drying influences 
of the air, and yet away from rats and mice, 
are the chief and most distinctive house-fur- 
nishings of the homes of the countryside. 
For the rest the Provengal peasant is as likely 
to buy himself a wickerwork chair, or a German 
or American sewing-machine, with which to 
decorate his home, as anything else. One thing 



52 



Eambles on the Riviera 



he will not have foreign to his environment, 
and that is his cooking utensils. His '' batterie 
de cuisine " may not be as ample as that of 
the great hotels, but every one knows that the 
casseroles of commerce, whether one sees them 




A Panetiere 



in San Francisco, Buenos Ayres, or Soho, are 
a Provencal production, and that there is a 
certain little town, not many hundred males 
from St. Remy, which is devoted almost ex- 
clusively to the making of this all-useful cook- 
ing utensil. 

The panetieres, like the clocks, have a great 



St. Remy de Provence 53 

fascination for the tourist, and the desire to 
possess one has been known to have been so 
great as to warrant an offer of two hundred 
and fifty francs for an article which the pres- 
ent proprietor probably bought for twenty not 
many months before. 

St. Remy's next-door neighbour, just across 
the ridge of the Alpines, is Les Baux. 

Every traveller in Provence who may have 
heard of Les Baux has had a desire to know 
more of it based on a personal acquaintance. 

To-day it is nothing but a scrappy, tumble- 
down ruin of a once proud city of four thou- 
sand inhabitants. Its foundation dates back 
to the fifth century, and five hundred years 
later its seigneurs possessed the rights over 
more than sixty neighbouring towns. It was 
only saved in recent years from total destruc- 
tion by the foresight of the French govern- 
ment, which has stepped in and passed a decree 
that henceforth it is to rank as one of those 
'^ monuments historiques " over which it has 
spread its guardian wing. 

Les Baux of the present day is nothing but 
a squalid hamlet, and from the sternness of the 
topography round about one wonders how its 
present small population gains its livelihood, 
unless it be that they live on goat's milk and 



54 Rambles on the Riviera 

goat's meat, each of them a little strong for 
a general diet. As a picture paradise for art- 
ists, however, Les Baux is the peer of any- 
thing of its class in all France ; but that indeed 
is another story. 

The historical and architectural attractions 
of Les Baux are many, though, without excep- 
tion, they are in a ruinous state. The Chateau 
des Baux was founded on the site of an oppi- 
dum gaulois in the fifth century, and in succes- 
sive centuries was enlarged, modified, and 
aggrandized for its seigneurs, who bore suc- 
cessively the titles of Prince d 'Orange, Comte 
de Provence, Roi d 'Aries et de Vienne, and 
Empereur de Constantinople. 

One of the chief monuments is the Eglise 
St. Vincent, dating from the twelfth to the 
fourteenth centuries, and containing the tombs 
of many of the Seigneurs of Baux. 

There is, too, a ragged old ruin of a Protes- 
tant temple, with a series of remarkable carv- 
ings, and the motto " Post tenebras lux " 
graven above its portal. The Palais des Porce- 
lets, now the ^' communal " school, and the 
£]glise St. Claude, which has three distinct 
architectural styles all plainly to be seen, com- 
plete the near-by sights and scenes, all of which 



St. Eemy de Provence 55 

are of a weather-worn grimness, which has its 
charms in spite of its sadness of aspect. 

Not far distant is the Grotte des Fees, known 
in the Provengal tongue as '' Lou Trau di 
Fado," a great cavern some five hundred or 
more feet in length, the same in which Mistral 
placed one of the most pathetic scenes of ' ' Mi- 
reio." Of it and its history, and of the great 
Christmas fete with its midnight climax, noth- 
ing can be said here ; it needs a book to itself, 
and, as the French say, " c'est un chose a 
voir." 



CHAPTER IV. 

THE CRAU AND THE CAMAEGUE 

When the Rhone enters that departement 
of modern France which bears the name 
Bouches-du-Rhone, it has already accomplished 
eight hundred and seventy kilometres of its 
torrential course, and there remain but eighty- 
five more before, through the many mouths 
of the Grand and Petit Rhone, it finally mingles 
the Alpine waters of its source with those of 
the Mediterranean. 

Its flow is enormous when compared with 
the other inland waterways of France, and, 
though navigable only in a small way com- 
pared to the Seine, the traffic on it from the 
Mediterranean to Lyons, by great towed barges 
and canal-boats, and between Lyons and Avi- 
gnon, in the summer months, by steamboat, is, 
after all, considerable. Queer-looking barges 
and towboats, great powerful craft that will 
tow anything that has got an end to it, as the 
river folk will tell you, and ^' bateaux longs," 

56 



The Crau and the Camargue 5T 

make up the craft which one sees as the mighty 
river enters Provence. 

The boatmen of the Rhone still call the right 
bank Riaume (Royaume) and the left Empi 
(Saint Empire), the names being a survival 
of the days when the kingdom of France con- 
trolled the traffic on one side, and the papal 
power, so safely ensconced for seventy years 
at Avignon, on the other. 

The fall of the Rhone, which is the principal 
cause of its rapid current, averages something 
over six hundred millimetres to the kilometre 
until it reaches Avignon, when, for the rest 
of its course, considerably under a hundred 
kilometres, the fall is but twenty metres, some- 
thing like sixty-five feet. 

This state of affairs has given rise to a re- 
markable alluvial development, so that the 
plains of the Crau and the Camargue, and the 
lowlands of the estuary, appear like " made 
land ' ' to all who have ever seen them. There 
is an appreciable growth of stunted trees and 
bushes and what 'not, but the barrenness of the 
Camargue has not sensibly changed in cen- 
turies, and it remains still not unlike a desert 
patch of Far-Western America. 

Wiry grass, and another variety particularly 
suited to the raising and grazing of live stock. 



58 Rambles on the Riviera 

has kept the region from being one of absolute 
poverty; but, unless one is interested in rais- 
ing little horses (who look as though they might 
be related to the broncos of the Western 
plains), or beef or mutton, he will have no 
excuse for ever coming to the Camargue to 
settle. 

These little half-savage horses of the Ca- 
margue are thought to be the descendants of 
those brought from the Orient in ages past, 
and they probably are, for the Saracens were 
for long masters of the pays. 

The difference between the Camargue and 
the Crau is that the former has an almost entire 
absence of those cairns of pebbles which make 
the Crau look like a pagan cemetery. 

Like the horses, the cattle of the Camargue 
seem to be a distinct and indigenous variety, 
with long pointed horns, and generally white or 
cream coloured, like the oxen of the AUier. 
When the mistral blows, these cattle of the 
Camargue, instead of turning their backs upon 
it, face it, calmly chewing their cud. The 
herdsmen of the cattle have a laborious occu- 
pation, tracking and herding day and night, 
in much the same manner as the Gauchos of 
the Pampas and the cowboys of the Far West. 
They resemble the toreadors of Spain, too, and, 



The Crau and the Camargue 



59 



in many of their feats, are quite as skilful and 
intrepid as are the Manuels and Pedros of the 
bull-ring. 
As one approaches the sea the aspect of the 




^(Ar^''-^ ^ 



J.McMonus '*'***ali>*f\I 






Camargue changes; the hamlets become less 
and less frequent, and outside of these there 
are few signs of life except the guardians of 
cattle and sheep which one meets here, there, 
?ind everywhere, 



60 Rambles on the Riviera 



The flat, monotonous marsh is only relieved 
by the delicate tints of the sky and clouds over- 
head, and the reflected rays of the setting sun, 
and the glitter of the waves of the sea itself. 

Suddenly, as one reads in Mistral's " Mi- 
reio," Chant X., " sur la mer lointaine et clapo- 
teuse, Gomme un vaisseau qui cingle vers le 
rivage/' one sees a great church arising almost 
alone. It is the church of Les Saintes Maries. 

Formerly the little town of Les Saintes 
Maries, or village rather, for there are but 
some six hundred souls within its confines to- 
day, was on an island quite separated from 
the mainland. Here, history tells, was an 
ancient temple to Diana, but no ruins are left 
to make it a place of pilgrimage for worship- 
pers at pagan shrines ; instead Christians flock 
here in great numbers, on the 24tli of May and 
the 22d of October in each year, from all over 
Provence and Languedoc, as they have since 
Bible times, to pray at the shrine of the three 
Marys in the fortress-church of Les Saintes 
Maries : Mary, the sister of the Virgin Mary, 
the mother of the apostles James and John, 
and Mary Magdalen. 

The village of Les Saintes, as it is commonly 
called, is a sad, dull town, with no trees, no 
gardens, no '* Place," no market, and no port; 



The Crau and the Camargue 61 

nothing but one long, straight and narrow 
street, with short culs-de-sac leading from it, 
and one of the grandest and most singular 
church edifices to be seen in all France. Like 
the cathedrals at Albi and Rodez, it looks as 
much like a fortress as it does a church, and 
here it has not even the embellishments of a 
later decorative period to set off the grimness 
of its walls. 

As one approaches, the aspect of this bizarre 
edifice is indeed surprising, rising abruptly, 
though not to a very imposing height, from the 
flat, sandy, marshy plain at its feet. The foun- 
dation of the church here was due to the appear- 
ance of Christianity among the Gauls at a very 
early period; but, like the pagan temple of an 
earlier day, all vestiges of this first Christian 
monument have disappeared, destroyed, it is 
said, by the Saracens. A noble — whose name 
appears to have been forgotten — built a new 
church here in the tenth century, which took 
the form of a citadel as a protection against 
"further piratical invasion. At the same time a 
few houses were built around the haunches of 
the fortress-church, for the inhabitants of this 
part of the Camargue were only too glad to 
avail themselves of the shelter and protection 
which it offered. 



62 Rambles on the Riviera 

In a short time a petite ville had been created 
and was given the name of Notre Dame de la 
Barque, in honour of the arrival in Gaul at this 
point of '^ . . . les saintes femmes Marie Mag- 
deleine, Marie Jacohe, Marie Salome, Marthe 
et son frere Lazare, ainsi que de plusieurs dis- 
ciples du Sauveur." They were the same who 
had been set adrift in an open boat off the 
shores of Judea, and who, without sails, oars, 
or nourishment, in some miraculous manner, 
had drifted here. The tradition has been well 
guarded by the religious and civic authorities 
alike, the arms of the town bearing a repre- 
sentation of a shipwrecked craft supported by 
female figures and the legend '^ Navis in Pe- 
lago." 

On the occasion of the fete, on the 24th of 
May, there are to be witnessed many moving 
scenes among the pilgrims of all ages who have 
made the journey, many of them on foot, from 
all over Provence. Like the pardons of Brit- 
tany, the fete here has much the same signifi- 
cance and procedure. There is much proces-' 
sioning, and praying, and exhorting, and burn- 
ing of incense and of candles, and afterward 
a defile to the sands of the seashore, some two 
kilometres away, and a " benediction des trou- 
peaux," which means simply that the blessings 



The Crau and the Camargue 63 

that are so commonly bestowed upon humanity 
by the clergy are extended on these occasions 
to take in the animal kind of the Camargue 
plain, on whom so many of the peasants depend 
for their livelihood. It seems a wise and 
thoughtful thing to do, and smacks no more 
of superstition than many traditional cus- 
toms. 

After the religious ceremonies are over, the 
" fete profane " commences, and then there 
are many things done which might well enough 
be frowned down; bull-baiting, for instance. 
The entire spectacle is unique in these parts, 
and every whit as interesting as the most spec- 
tacular pardon of Finistere. 

At the actual mouth of the Ehone is Port 
St. Louis, from which the economists expect 
great things in the development of mid-France, 
particularly of those cities which lie in the 
Rhone valley. The idea is not quite so chi- 
merical as that advanced in regard to the pos- 
sibility of moving all the great traffic of Mar- 
seilles to the Eltang de Berre; but it will be 
some years before Port St. Louis is another 
Lorient or Le Havre. 

In spite of this. Port St. Louis has grown 
from a population of eight hundred to that of 
a couple of thousands in a generation, which is 



64 Rambles on the Riviera 

an astonishing growth for a small town in 
France. 

The aspect of the place is not inspiring. A 
signal-tower, a lighthouse, a Hotel de Ville, — 
which looks as though it might be the court- 
house of some backwoods community in Mis- 
souri, — and the rather ordinary houses which 
shelter St. Louis's two thousand souls, are 
about all the tangible features of the place 
which impress themselves upon one at first 
glance. 

Besides this there is a very excellent little 
hotel, a veritable hotel du pays, where you will 
get the fish of the Mediterranean as fresh as 
the hour they were caught; and the mouton 
de la Camargue, which is the most excellent 
mutton in all the world (when cooked by a 
Provengal maitre) ; potatoes, of course, which 
most likely came in a trading Catalan bark 
from Algeria; and tomatoes and dates from 
the same place ; to say nothing of melons — 
home-grown. It's all very simple, but the mar- 
vel is that such a town in embryo as Port St, 
Louis really is can do it so well, and for this 
reason alone the visitor will, in most cases, 
think the journey from Aries worth making, 
particularly if he does it en auto, for the fifty 
odd kilometres are like a sanded, hardwood 



The Crau and the Camargue 65 

floor or a cinder path, and the landscape, though 
flat, is by no means deadly dull. Furthermore 
there is no one to say him nay if the driver 
chooses to make the journey en pleine vitesse. 

Bordering upon the Camargue, just the other 
side of the Rhone, is another similar tract: 
the Crau, a great, pebbly plain, supposed to 
have come into being many centuries before 
the beginning of our era. The hypotheses as 
to its formation are numerous, the chief being 
that it was the work of that mythological Her- 
cules who cut the Strait of Gibraltar between 
the Mounts Calpe and Abyle (this, be it noted, 
is the French version of the legend). Not con- 
tent with this wonder, he turned the Durance 
from its bed, as it flowed down from the Alps 
of Savoie, and a shower of stones fell from the 
sky and covered the land for miles around, 
turning it into a barren waste. For some cen- 
turies the tract preserved the name of 
^' Champs Herculeen." The reclaiming of the 
tract will be a task of a magnitude not far 
below that which brought it into being. 

At all events no part of Gaul has as little 
changed its topography since ages past, and 
the strange aspect of the Crau is the marvel 
of all who see it. The pebbles are of all sizes 
larger than a grain of sand, and occasionally 



66 Rambles on the Riviera 

one has been found as big as one 's head. "When 
such a treasure is discovered, it is put up in 
some conspicuous place for the native and the 
stranger to marvel at. 

Many other conjectures have been made as 
to the origin of this strange land. Aristotle 
thought that an earthquake had pulverized a 
mountain; Posidonius, that it was the bottom 
of a dried-out lake ; and Strabon that the peb- 
bly surface was due to large particles of rock 
having been rolled about and smoothed by the 
winds; but none have the elements of legend 
so well defined as that which attributes it as 
the work of Hercules. 

The Crau, like the Camargue, is a district 
quite indescribable. All around is a lone, 
strange land, the only living things being the 
flocks of sheep and the herds of great, long- 
horned cattle which are raised for local con- 
sumption and for the bull-ring at Aries. 

It is indeed a weird and strange country, as 
level as the proverbial billiard-table, and its 
few inhabitants are of that sturdy weather- 
beaten race that knows not fear of man or beast. 
There is an old saying that the native of the 
Crau and the Camargue must learn to fly in- 
stead of fight, for there is nothing for him to 
put his back against. 



The Crau and the Camargue 67 

Far to the northward and eastward is a 
chain of mountains, the foot-hills of the mighty 
Alps, while on the horizon to the south there 
is a vista of a patch of blue sea which some- 
where or other, not many leagues away, bor- 
ders upon fragrant gardens and flourishing sea- 
ports; but in these pebbly, sandy plains all is 
level and monotonous, with only an occasional 
oasis of trees and houses. 

The Crau was never known as a political 
division, but its topographical aspect was com- 
mented on by geographers like Strabon, who 
also remarked that it was strewn with a scant 
herbage which grew up between its pebbles 
hardly sufificient to nourish a taureau. Things 
have not changed much in all these long years, 
but there is, as a matter of fact, nourishment 
for thousands of sheep and cattle. St. Cesaire, 
Bishop of Aries, also left a written record of 
pastures which he owned in the midst of a 
campo lapidio (presumably the Crau), and 
again, in the tenth and eleventh centuries, nu- 
merous old charters make mention of Posena 
in Cravo. All this points to the fact that the 
topographical aspect of this barren, pebbly 
land — which may or may not be some day 
reclaimed — has ever been what it is to-day. 
Approximately twenty-fiVe thousand, hectares 



68 Rambles on the Riviera 

— - 

of this pasturage nourish some fifty thousand 
sheep in the winter months. In the summer 
these flocks of sheep migrate to Alpine pas- 
turage, making the journey by highroad and 
nibbling their nourishment where they find it. 
It seems a remarkable trip to which to subject 
the docile creatures, — some five hundred kilo- 
metres out and back. They go in flocks of two 
or three hundred, being guarded by a couple 
of shepherds called " hayles," whose effects 
are piled in saddle-bags on donkey-back, quite 
in the same way that the peasants of Albania 
travel. The shepherds of the Crau are a very 
good imitation of the Bedouin of the desert 
in their habits and their picturesque costume. 
Always with the flock are found a pair of those 
discerning but nondescript dogs known as 
'' sheep-dogs." The doubt is cast upon the 
legitimacy of their pedigree from the fact that, 
out of some hundreds met with by the author 
on the highroads of Europe, no two seemed to 
be of the same breed. Almost any old dog with 
shaggy hair seemingly answered the purpose 
well. 

The custom of sending the sheep to the moun- 
tains of Dauphine for the summer months still 
goes on, but as often as not they are to-day 
sent by train instead of by road. The ancient 



The Crau and the Camargue 69 

practice is apparently another reminiscence of 
the wandering flocks and herds of the Orient. 

If it is ever reclaimed, the Crau will lose 
something in picturesqueness of aspect, and of 
manners and customs; but it will undoubtedly 
prove to the increased prosperity of the neigh- 
bourhood. The thing has been well thought out, 
though whether it ever comes to maturity or 
not is a question. 

It was Lord Brougham — " le fervent etudi- 
ant de la Provence/' the French call him — 
who said: " Herodotus called Egypt a gift of 
the Nile to posterity, but the Durance can make 
of la Crau une petite Egypte aux partes de 
Marseilles." From this one- gathers that the 
region has only to be plentifully watered to 
become a luxuriant and productive river-bot- 
tom. 



CHAPTER V. 

MARTIGUES: THE PROVENgAX, VENICE 

We arrived at Martigues in the early morn- 
ing hours affected by automobilists, having 
spent the night a dozen miles or so away in 
the chateau of a friend. Our host made an early 
start on a shooting expedition, already planned 
before we put in an appearance, so we took the 
road at the witching hour of five a. m., and 
descended upon the Hotel Chabas at Martigues 
before the servants were up. Some one had 
overslept. 

However, we gave the great door of the 
stable a gentle shake; it opened slowly, but 
silently, and we drove the automobile noisily 
inside. Two horses stampeded, a dog barked, 
a cock crowed, and sleepy-headed old Pierre 
appeared, saying that they had no room, forget- 
ful that another day was born, and that he had 
allowed two fat commercial travellers, who 
were to have left by the early train, to over- 
sleep. 

70 




Eglise de la Madeleine, Mariigues 



Martigues: The Provengal Venice 71 

As there was likely to be room shortly, we 
convinced Pierre (whose name was really Pie- 
tro, he being an Italian) of the propriety of 
making us some coffee, and then had leisure to 
realize that at last we were at Martigues — 
" La Venise Provengale." 

Martigues is a paradise for artists. So far 
as its canals and quays go, it is Venice without 
the pomp and glory of great palaces; and the 
life of its fishermen and women is quite as pic- 
turesque as that of the Giudecca itself. 

Wonderful indeed are the sunsets of a May 
evening, on Martigues 's Canal and Quai des 
Bourdigues, or from the ungainly bridge which 
crosses to the Ferrieres quarter, with the sky- 
scraping masts of the tartanes across the face 
of the sinking sun like prison bars. 

Great ungainly tubs are the boats of the 
fisherfolk of Martigues (all except the tartanes, 
which are graceful white-winged birds). The 
motor-boat has not come to take the pictur- 
esqueness away from the slow-moving betes, 
which are more like the dory of the Gloucester 
fishermen, without its buoyancy, than anything 
else afloat. 

Before the town, though two or three kilo- 
metres away, is the Mediterranean, and back of 



72 Rambles on the Riviera 

it the Etang de Berre, known locally as ''La 
Petite Mer de Berre." 

Here is a little corner of France not yet over- 
run by tourists, and perhaps it never will be. 
Hardly out of sight from the beaten track of 
tourist travel to the south of France, and 
within twenty odd miles of Marseilles, it is a 
veritable " darkest Africa " to most travellers. 
To be sure, French and American artists know 
it well, or at least know the lovely little triplet 
town of Martigues, through the pictures of 
Ziem and Galliardini and some others; but 
the seekers after the diversions of the " Cote 
d'Azur " know it not, and there are no tea- 
rooms and no " biere anglaise " in the bars 
or cafes of the whole circuit of towns and vil- 
lages which surround this little inland sea. 

The aspect of this little-known section of 
Provence is not wholly as soft and agreeable 
as, in his mind's eye, one pictures the country 
adjacent to the Mediterranean to be. The hills 
and the shores of the " Petite Mer " are sombre 
and severe in outline, but not sad or ugly by 
any means, for there is an almost tropical 
glamour over all, though the olive and fig trees, 
umbrella-pines and gnarled, dwarf cjq^resses, 
with juts and crops of bare gray stone rising 
up through the thin soil, are quite in con- 



Martigues: The Provencal Venice 73 

trast with the palms and aloes of the Riviera 
proper. 

At the entrance to the " Petite Mer," or, to 
give it its official name, the Sjtang de Berre, 
is a little port which bears the vague name of 
Port de Bouc. 

Port de Bouc itself is on the great Grolfe de 
Fos, where the sun sets in a blaze of colour 
for quite three hundred days in the year, and 
in a manner unapproached elsewhere outside of 
Turner's landscapes. Perhaps it is for this 
reason that the town has become a sort of 
watering-place for the people of Nimes, Aries, 
and Avignon. There is nothing of the conven- 
tional resort about it, however, and the inhab- 
itants of it, and the neighbouring town of Fos, 
are mostly engaged in making bricks, paper, 
and salt, refining petrol, and drying the cod- 
fish which are landed at its wharves by great 
'^ trois-mdts," which have come in from the 
banks of Terre Neuve during the early winter 
months. There is a great ship-building estab- 
lishment here which at times gives employment 
to as many as a thousand men, and accordingly 
Port de Bouc and Fos-sur-Mer, though their 
names are hardly known outside of their own 
neighbourhoods, form something of a metrop- 



74 Rambles on the Riviera 

olis to-day, as they did when the latter was a 
fortified cite romaine. 

The region round about has many of the 
characteristics of the Crau, a land half-terres- 
trial and half-aquatic, formed by the alluvial 
deposits of the mighty Ehone and the torren- 
tial rivers of its watershed. 

At Venice one finds superb marble palaces, 
and a history of sovereigns and prelates, and 
much art and architecture of an excellence and 
grandeur which perhaps exceeds that at any 
other popular tourist point. Martigues resem- 
bles Venice only as regards its water-sur- 
rounded situation, its canal-like streets and 
the general air of Mediterranean picturesque- 
ness of the life of its fisherfolk and seafarers. 

Martigues has an advantage over the ' ' Queen 
of the Adriatic ' ' in that none of its canals are 
slimy or evil-smelling, and because there is 
an utter absence of theatrical effect and, what 
is more to the point, an almost unappreciable 
number of tourists. 

It is true that Galliardini and Ziem have made 
the fame of Martigues as an " artists' sketch- 
ing-ground, ' ' and as such its reputation has been 
wide-spread. Artists of all nationalities come 
and go in twos and threes throughout the year, 
but it has not yet been overrun at any time by 



Martigues: The Provengal Venice 75 

tourists. None except the Marseillais seem to 
have made it a resort, and they only come out 
on bicycles or en auto to eat '' bouillabaisse " 
of a special variety which has made Martigues 
famous. 

Ziem seems to have been one of the pioneers 
of the new school, high-coloured paintings 
which are now so greatly the vogue. This is 
not saying that for that reason they are any 
the less truthful representations of the things 
they are supposed to present; probably they 
are not; but if some one would explain why 
M. Ziem laid out an artificial pond in the gar- 
dens of his house at Martigues, put up Vene- 
tian lantern-poles, and anchored a gondola 
therein, and in another corner built a mosque, 
or whatever it may be, — a thing of minarets 
and towers and Moorish arches, — it would 
allay some suspicions which the writer has re- 
garding '^ the artist's way of working." 

It does not necessarily mean that Ziem did 
not go to Africa for his Arab or Moorish com- 
positions, or to Venice for his Venetian boat- 
men and his palace backgrounds. Probably he 
merely used the properties as accessories in an 
open-air studio, which is certainly as legitimate 
as " working-up " one's pictures in a sky- 
lighted atelier up five flights of stairs; and 



76 Rambles on the Riviera 



the chances are this is just where Ziem's bril- 
liant colouring comes from. 

Martigues in its manners and customs is un- 
doubtedly one of the most curious of all the 
coast towns of France. It is truly a gay little 
city, or rather it is three of them, known as 
Les Martigues, though the sum total of their 
inhabitants does not exceed six thousand souls 
all told. 

Martigues at first glance appears to be 
mostly peoj)led by sailors and fishermen, and 
there is little of the super-civilization of a great 
metropolis to be seen, except that '^ all the 
world and his wife " dines at the fashionable 
hour of eight, and before, and after, and at all 
times, patronizes the Cafe de Commerce to an 
extent which is the wonder of the stranger and 
the great profit of the patron. 

No cafe in any small town in France is so 
crowded at the hour of the " aperitif," and all 
the frequenters of Martigues 's most popular 
establishment have their own special bottle of 
whatever of the varnishy drinks they prefer 
from among those which go to make up the list 
of the Frenchman's " aperitifs." It is most 
remarkable that the cafes of Martigues should 
be so well patronized, and they are no mere 
longshore cabarets, either, but have walls of 



Martigues: The Provengal Venice 77 




Martigues 



78 Rambles on the Riviera 

plate glass, and as many varieties of absinthe 
as yon will find in a boulevard resort in Paris. 

The Provengal historians state that Les Mar- 
tigues did not exist as such until the middle 
of the thirteenth century, and that up to that 
time it consisted merely of a few families of 
fisherfolk living in huts upon the ruins of a 
former settlement, which may have been Ro- 
man, or perhaps Greek. This first settlement 
was on the He St. Geniez^ which now forms the 
official quarter of the triple town. 

Martigues is all but indescribable, its three 
quartiers are so widely diversified in interest 
and each so characteristic in the life which 
goes on within its confines, — Jonquieres, with 
its shady Cours and narrow cobblestoned 
streets; the He, surrounded by its canals and 
fishing-boats, and Ferrieres, a more or less 
fastidious faubourg backed up against the hill- 
side, crowned by an old Capucin convent. 

For a matter of fifteen hundred years there 
has been communication between the Etang 
de Berre and the Mediterranean, and the Mar- 
tigaux have ever been alive to keeping the 
channel open. Through this canal the fish 
which give industry and prosperity to Mar- 
tigues make their way with an almost inexpli- 
cable regularity. A migration takes place from 



Martigues: The Provengal Venice 79 

the Mediterranean to the Etang from February 
to July, and from July to February they pass 
in the opposite direction. 

Their capture in deep water is difficult, and 
the Martigaux have ingeniously built narrow 
waterways ending in a cul-de-sac, through 
which the fish must naturally pass on their 
passage between the Etang and the sea. The 
taking of the fish under such conditions is a 
sort of automatic process, so efficacious and 
simple that it would seem as though the plan 
might be tried elsewhere. 

The name given to the sluices or fish thor- 
oughfares is hour digues, and the fishermen are 
known as hourdigaliers, a title which is not 
known or recognized elsewhere. 

The hour digue fishery is a monopoly, how- 
ever, and many have been the attempts to 
break down the ' ' vested interests ' ' of the pro- 
prietors. Originally these rights belonged to 
the Archbishop of Aries, and later to the Sei- 
gneurs de Gallifet, Princes of Martigues, when 
the town was made a principality by Henri IV. 
It has continued to be a private enterprise unto 
to-day, and has been sanctioned by the courts, 
so there appears no immediate probability of 
the general populace of Martigues being able 
to participate in it. 



Rambles on the Riviera 



There is a delicate fancy evolved from the 
connection of Martigues's three sister fau- 
bourgs or quartiers. In the old days each had 
a separate entity and government, and each 
had a flag of its own; that of Jonquieres was 
blue ; the He, white ; and Ferrieres, red. There 
was an intense rivalry between the inhabitants 
of the three faubourgs; a rivalry which led to 
the beating of each other with oars and fishing- 
tackle, and other boisterous horse-play when- 
ever they met one another in the canals or on 
the wharves. The warring factions of the three 
quartiers of Martigues, however, finally came 
to an understanding whereby the blue, white, 
and red banners of Jonquieres, the He and 
Ferrieres were united in one general flag. The 
adoption of the tricolour by the French nation 
was thus antedated, curiously enough, by two 
hundred years, and the tricolour of France 
may be considered a Martigues institution. 

In the Quartier de Ferrieres are moored the 
tartanes and balancelles, those great white- 
winged, lateen-rigged craft which are the nat- 
ural component of a Mediterranean scene. 
Those hailing from Martigues are the aristo- 
crats of their class, usually gaudily painted 
and flying high at the masthead a red and yel- 



Martigues: The Provengal Venice 81 

low striped pennant distinctive of their home 
port. 

In the fish-market of Martigues the trav- 
eller from the north will probably make his 
first acquaintance with the tunny-fish or thon 
of the Mediterranean. He is something like 
the tarpon of the Mexican Gulf, and is a gamy 
sort of a fellow, or would be if one ever got 
him on the end of a line, which, however, is not 
the manner of taking him. He is caught by 
the gills in great nets of cord, as thick and 
heavy as a clothes-line, scores and hundreds at 
a time, and it takes the strength of many boat- 
loads of men to draw the nets. 

The thon is the most unfishlike fish that one 
ever cast eyes upon. He looks like a cross be- 
tween a porpoise and a mackerel in shape, and 
is the size of the former. It is the most beau- 
tifully modelled fish imaginable; round and 
plump, with smoothly fashioned head and tail, 
it looks as if it were expressly designed to slip 
rapidly through the water, which in reality it 
does at an astonishing rate. Its proportions 
are not graceful or delicately fashioned at all; 
they are rather clumsy; but it is perfectly 
smooth and scaleless, and looks, and feels too, 
as if it were made of hard rubber. 

In short the thon is the most unemotional- 



82 Rambles on the Riviera 

looking thing in the whole fish and animal 
world, with no more realism to it than if it were 
whittled out of a log of wood and covered with 
stove-polish. Caught, killed, and cured (by be- 
ing cut into cubes and packed in oil in little 
tins), the thon forms a great delicacy among 
the assortment of hors-d'ceuvres which the 
Paris and Marseilles restaurant-keepers put 
before one. 

One of the great features of Martigues is its 
cookery, its fish cookery in particular, for the 
bouillabaisse of Martigues leads the world. It 
is far better than that which is supplied to 
'' stop-over " tourists at Marseilles, en route 
to Egypt, the East, or the Riviera. 

Thackeray sang the praises of bouillabaisse 
most enthusiastically in his " Ballad of the 
Bouillabaisse," but then he ate it at a restau- 
rant '' on a street in Paris," and he knew not 
the real thing as Chabas dishes it up at Mar- 
tigues 's " Grand Hotel." 

Chabas is known for fifty miles around. He 
is not a Martigaux, but comes from Cavaillon, 
the home of all good cooks, or at least one may 
say unreservedly that all the people of Cavail- 
lon are good cooks: '^ les maitres de la cuisine 
Provengale " they are known to all bons-vi- 
vants. 



Martigues: The Provengal Venice 83 

Neither is madame a Martigaux; she is an 
Arlesienne (and wears the Arlesienne coiffe at 
all times) ; Aries is a town as celebrated for 
its fair women as is Cavaillon for its cooks. 

Together M. and Madame Chabas hold a big 
daily reception in the cuisine of the hotel, for- 
merly the kitchen of an old convent. M. Paul 
is a ' ' handy man ; " he cooks easily and natu- 
rally, and carries on a running conversation 
with all who drop in for a chat. Most cooks are 
irascible and cranky individuals, but not so M. 
Paul ; the more, the merrier with him, and not 
a drop too much oil (or too little), not a taste 
too much of garlic, nor too much saffron in the 
bouillabaisse, nor too much salt or pepper on 
the roti or the legumes. It's all chance appar- 
ently with him, for like all good cooks he never 
measures anything, but the wonder is that he 
doesn't get rattled and forget, with the mixed 
crew of pensionnaires and neighbours always 
at his elbow, warming themselves before the 
same fire that heats his pots and pans and 
furnishes the flame for the great broche on 
which sizzle the well-basted petits oiseaux. 

Bouillabaisse is always the plat-du-jour at 
the " Grand Hotel," and it's the most wonder- 
fully savoury dish that one can imagine — as 
Chabas cooks it. 



84 Rambles on the Riviera 

Outside a Provencal cookery-book one would 
hardly expect to find a recipe for bouillabaisse 
that one could accept with confidence, but on 
the other hand no writer could possibly have 
the temerity to write of Provence and not have 
his say about the wonderful fish stew known to 
lovers of good-living the world over. It is more 
or less a risky proceeding, but to omit it alto- 
gether would be equally so, so the attempt is 
here made. 

'' La bouillabaisse/' of which poets have 
sung, has its variations and its intermittent 
excellencies, and sometimes it is better than 
at others; but always it is a dish which gives 
off an aroma which is the very spirit of Pro- 
vence, an unmistakable reminiscence of Mar- 
tigues, where it is at its best. 

When the bouillabaisse is made according to 
the vieilles regies, it is as exquisite a thing to 
eat as is to be found among all the famous 
dishes of famous places. One goes to Bur- 
gundy to eat escargots, to Rouen for caneton, 
and to Marguery's for soles, but he puts the 
memory of all these things behind him and far 
away when he first tastes bouillabaisse in the 
place of its birth. 

Here is the recipe in its native tongue so 
that there may be no mistaking it : 



Martigues: The Provengal Venice 85 

" Poisson de la Mediterranee fraichement 
peche, avec les huiles vierges de la Provence. 
Thon, dorade, mulet, rouget, rascasses, par- 
fumes par le fenouil et de laurier, telles sont 
les bases de cette soupe, coloree par le safran, 
que toutes les menageres de la littoral de Pro- 
vence s'entendent a merveille a preparer." 

As before said, not many tourists (English or 
American) frequent Martigues, and those who 
do come all have leanings toward art. Now 
and then a real " carryall and guide-book 
traveller ' ' drifts in, gets a whiff of the mistral, 
(which often blows with deadly fury across the 
Etang) and, thinking that it is always like that, 
leaves by the first train, after having bought a 
half-dozen picture post-cards and eaten a bowl 
of bouillabaisse. 

The type exists elsewhere in France, in large 
numbers, in Normandy and Brittany for in- 
stance, but he is a rara avis at Martigues, and 
only comes over from his favourite tea-drink- 
ing Eiviera resort (he tells you) '^ out of curi- 
osity. ' ' 

Martigues is practically the gateway to all 
the attractions of the wonderful region lying 
around the ifitang de Berre, and of the littoral 
between Marseilles and the mouths of the 
Rhone. It is not very accessible by rail, how- 



86 



Rambles on the Riviera 



ever, and a good hard walker could get there 
from Marseilles almost as quickly on foot as 
by train. 

The ridiculous little train of double-decked, 
antiquated cars, and a still more antiquated 
locomotive, takes nearly an hour to make the 
journey from Pas-de-Lanciers. Some day the 
dreaded mistral will blow this apology for rapid 
transit off into the sea, and then there will come 
an electric line, which will make the journey 
from Marseilles in less than an hour, instead 
of the three or four that it now takes. 




^■ flyjiy 



CHAPTEE VI. 



THE ETANG DE BEERE 



Maetigues is the metropolis of the towns and 
villages which fringe the shore of the IJtang 
de Berre, a sort of an inland sea, with all the 
attributes of both a salt and fresh water lake. 

Around Martigues, in the spring-time, all is 
verdant and full of colour, and the air is laden 
with the odours of aromatic buds and blossoms. 
At this time, when the sun has not yet dried 
out and yellowed the hillsides, the spectacle of 
the background panorama is most ravishing. 
Almond, peach, and apricot trees, all covered 
with a rosy snow of blossoms, are everywhere, 
and their like is not to be seen elsewhere, for in 
addition there is here a contrasting frame of 
greenish-gray olive-trees and punctuating ac- 
cents of red and yellow wild flowers that is rem- 
iniscent of California. 

Surrounding the '' Petite Mer de Berre " are 
a half-dozen of unspoiled little towns and vil- 
lages which are most telling in their beauty and 

87 



Rambles on the Riviera 



cliarms : St. Mitre, crowning a hill with a pic- 
turesquely roofed Capucin convent for a near 
neighbour, and with some very substantial re- 
mains of its old Saracen walls and gates, is the 
very ideal of a mediaeval hill town; Istres, 
with its tree-grown chapel, its fortress-like 
church and its '^ classic landscape," is as unlike 
anything that one sees elsewhere in France 
as could be imagined; while Miramas, St. 
Chamas, and Berre, on the north shores of the 
Etang, though their names even are not known 
to most travellers, are delightful old towns 
where it is still possible to live a life unspoiled 
by twentieth-century inventions and influences. 

If the mistral is not blowing, one may make 
the passage across the Etang, from Martigues 
to Berre, in one of the local craft known as a 
" bete/' a name which sounds significant, but 
which really means nothing. If the north wind 
is blowing, the journey should be made by 
train, around the Ifitang via Marignane. The 
latter route is cheaper, and one may be saved 
an uncomfortable, not to say dangerous, ex- 
perience. 

One great and distinct feature of the coun- 
tryside within a short radius of Marseilles, 
within which charmed circle lie Martigues and 
all the surrounding towns of the Eltang de 



The Etang de Berre 89 

Berre, are the cabanons, the modest villas {sic) 
of these parts, seen wherever there is an out- 
look upon the sea or a valleyed vista. They 
cling perilously to the hillsides, wherever 
enough level ground can be found to plant 
their foundations, and their gaudy colouring 
is an ever present feature in the landscape of 
hill and vale. 

The cab anon is really the maison de cam- 
pagne of the petit bourgeois of the cities and 
towns. It is like nothing ever seen before, 
though in the Var, east of Marseilles, the 
*' bastide " is somewhat similar. In its pro- 
portions it resembles the log cabin of the 
Canadian backwoods more than it does the 
East Indian bungalow, though it is hardly more 
comfortable or roomy than the wigwam of the 
red man. Indeed, how could it be, when it con- 
sists of but four walls, forming a rectangle of 
perhaps a dozen feet square, and a roof of 
red tiles? 

If, like the Japanese, the inhabitant of the 
cabanon likes to carry his household gods about 
with him, why, then it is quite another thing, 
and there is some justice in the claim of its 
occupant that he is enjoying life en villegia- 
ture. 

'' he cabanon: c'est unique et ajfreux! " 



90 Rambles on the Riviera 

said Taine, and, though he was a great grum- 
bler when it came to travel talk, and the above 
is an unfair criticism of a most intolerant kind, 
the cahanon really is ludicrous, though often 
picturesque. 

The simple stone hut, with the stones them- 
selves roughly covered with pink or blue stucco, 
sits, always, facing the south. Before it is a 
tiny terrace and, since there are often no win- 
dows, the general housekeeping is done under 
an awning, or a lean-to, or a ^^ tonnelle." 

It is not a wholly unlovely thing, a cahanon, 
but it gets the full benefit of the glaring sun- 
light on its crude outlines, and, though sylvan 
in its surroundings, it is seldom cool or shady, 
as a country house, of whatever proportions or 
dimensions, ought to be. 

Some figures concerning the Sltang de Berre 
are an inevitable outcome of a close observa- 
tion, so the following are given and vouched 
for as correct. It is large enough to shelter 
all the commercial fleet of the Mediterranean 
and all the French navy as well. For an area 
of over three thousand hectares, there is a 
depth of water closely approximating forty 
feet. Between the Etang and the Mediterra- 
nean are the Montagues de I'Estaque, which 
for a length of eight kilometres range in height 



The Etang de Berre 91 

from three hundred to fifteen hundred feet, 
and would form almost an impenetrable bar- 
rier to a fleet which might attack the ships of 
commerce or war which one day may take shel- 
ter in the Eltang de Berre. This, if the naval 
powers-that-be have their way, will some day 
come to pass. All this is a prophecy, of course, 
but Elisee Eeclus has said that the non-uliliza- 
tion of the l^tsnag de Berre was a scandale 
economique, which doubtless it is. 

In spite of the name '' Etang," the " Petite 
Mer de Berre " is a veritable inland harbour 
or rade, closed against all outside attack by 
its narrow entrance through the elongated 
fitang de Caronte. That its strategic value to 
France is fully recognized is evident from the 
fact that frequently it is overrun by a prac- 
tising torpedo-boat fleet. What its future may 
be, and that of the delightful little towns and 
cities on its shores, is not very clear. There is 
the possibility of making it the chief harbour 
on the south coast of France, but hitherto the 
influences of Marseilles have been too strong; 
and so this vast basin is as tranquil and de- 
serted as if it were some inlet on the coast of 
Borneo, and, except for the little lateen-rigged 
fishing-boats which dot its surface day in and 
day out throughout the year, not a mast of a 



92 Rambles on the Riviera 

goelette and not a funnel of a steamship ever 
crosses its horizon, — except the manoeuvring 
torpedo-boats. 

The Marseillais know this '' Petite Mer " 
and its curious border towns and villages full 
well. They come to Martigues to eat bouilla- 
baise of even a more pungent variety than they 
get at home, and they go to Marignane for la 
chasse, — though it is only '' petits oiseaux " 
and " plongeurs '' that they bag, — and they 
go to St. Chamas and Berre for the fishing, 
until the whole region has become a Sunday 
meeting-place for the Marseillais who affect 
what they call " le sport." 

On the western shore of the '' Petite Mer," 
on the edge of the dry, pebbly Crau, with a 
background of greenish-gray olive groves, is 
Istres, a chef -lieu not recognized by many geog- 
raphers out of France, and known by still fewer 
tourists. Istres is in no way a remarkable 
place, and its inhabitants live mostly on carp 
taken from the Etang de 1 'Olivier, monies, and 
such poissons de mer as find their way into the 
^' Petite Mer." Fish diet is not bad, but it 
palls on one if it is too constant, and the moule 
is a poor substitute for the clam or oyster. 
Istres makes salt and soda and not much else, 
but it is a town as characteristic of the sur- 




Jsires 



The Etang de Berre 93 

rounding country as one is likely to find. It 
grew up from a quasi-Saracen settlement, and 
down through feudal times it bore some resem- 
blance to what it is to-day, for it numbers but 
something like three thousand souls. There are 
remains of its old ramparts which, judging 
from their aspect, must once have borne some 
relationship to those of Aigues Mortes. 

Truly the landscape round about is weird 
and strange, but it is superb in its very rude- 
ness, although no one would have the temerity 
to call it magnificent. There are great hillocks 
of fossil shells which would delight the geolo- 
gist, and there are " petits oiseaux " galore 
for the sportsman. 

Twilight seems to be the time of day when 
all Istres 's strange effects are heightened, — 
as it is on the Nile, — and it will take no great 
stretch of the imagination to picture the shores 
of the :fitang as the banks of Egypt's river. 
The aspect at the close of day is strange and 
unforgettable, with the great plain of the Crau 
stretching away indefinitely, and the blue 
" nappe " of the ifitang likewise indefinitely 
hazy and tranquil. In spite of its lack of twen- 
tieth-century comforts, the seeker after new 
sensations could do worse than spend a night 
and a part of a day at Istres 's Hotel de France, 



94 Rambles on the Riviera 

and, if he is a painter, he may spend here a 
week, a month, or a lifetime and not get bored. 

If one happens to be at Istres on the ' ' Jour 
des Mortes," in November, he may witness, in 
the evening, in the cypress-sheltered cemetery, 
one of the most weird and eerie sights possible 
to imagine. When Odilon, Abbot of Cluny, 
established the " Fete des Mortes," in 998, 
he little knew the extent to which it would be 
observed. The ^' Fete des Mortes " is one 
thing in the royal crypt at St. Denis and quite 
another in the small towns and villages up and 
down the length of France. 

It has been commonly thought that Bretagne 
was the most religious and devout of all the 
ancient provinces of France, at least that it 
had become so, whatever may have been its 
status in the past; but certainly the good folk 
of Istres are as devout and religious as any 
community extant, if the wonderfully impres- 
sive chanting and illuminating in the graveyard 
by its old tree-grown chapel count for anything. 
It is as if the night itself were hung with crepe, 
and the hundreds, nay, thousands, of candles 
set about on the tombs and in the trees heighten 
the effect of solemnity and sadness to an inde- 
scribable degree. In the town the church-bells 
toll out their doleful knell, and the still air of 



The Etang de Berre 95 

the night carries the wails and chants of the 
mourners far out over the barren Crau. It is 
the same whether it rains or shines, or whether 
the mistral blows or not. The candles, the 
mourners, and the little crosses of wheat straws 
— a symbol of the Resurrection — are as mys- 
tical as the rites of the ancients to one who 
has never seen such a celebration. Decidedly, 
if one is in these parts on the first day of 
November, he should come to Istres for the 
night, or he will have missed an exceedingly 
interesting chapter from the book of pleasur- 
able travel. 

Passing from Istres to the north shore of 
the Eitang, one comes to Miramas. 

Miramas is a quaint little longshore town 
which makes one think of pirates, Saracens, 
and Moors, all of whom, in days gone by, had 
a foothold here, if local traditions are to be 
believed. Miramas and St. Chamas, which is 
the metropolis of the neighbourhood, though 
its population only about equals that of Mira- 
mas, are twin towns which are quite unlike any- 
thing else in these parts in that they are neither 
progressive nor somnolent, but while away 
their time in some inexplicable fashion, bathed 
in the brilliant Mediterranean sunlight reflected 
from off the surface of the ^Itang, which 



96 Rambles on the Riviera 

stretches at their feet and furnishes the sea- 
food on which the inhabitants mostly live. The 
chief curiosity of the neighbourhood is the 
Pont Flavien, which crosses the Touloubre 
near by, on the "Route d'Aix." The structure 
is a monument to Domnius Flavins by his exec- 
utors Domnius Vena and Attius Rufus. It 
possesses an elegance and sobriety which many 
more magnificent works lack, and the classic 
lines of its superstructure and its great semi- 
circular arch in the twilight carry the observer 
back to the days of medisevalism. 

At St. Chamas one is likely to find his hotel 
— regardless of which of the two leading estab- 
lishments he patronizes — most unique in its 
management, though none the less excellent, 
enjoyable, and amusing for that. If by chance 
he reaches the town on a Saturday night and 
comes upon a grand hal familier in the dining- 
room, and is himself compelled to eat his din- 
ner at a small table in the office, he must not 
quarrel, but rest content that he is to be re- 
warded by a sight which will prove again that 
it is only the French bourgeois who really and 
truly knows how to enjoy simple pleasures. 
Fortnightly, at least, during the winter months 
this sort of thing takes place, and the young 
men and maidens, and young mothers and their 



The Etang de Berre 97 

babies in arms, and old folk, too old indeed to 
swing partners, form a cordon around the walls 
to gaze upon the less timid ones who dance 
with all the abandon of a southern climate until 
the hour of eleven, — and then to bed. It is 
all very primitive, the orchestra decidedly so, 
— a violin and a clarionette, and always a Pro- 
vengal tambourine, which is not a tambourine 
at all, but a drum, — but an occasional glimpse 
of a beautiful Arlesienne will truly repay one 
for any discomfort to which he may have been 
put. 

St. Chamas is renowned through Provence 
from the fact that commerce in the olive first 
came to its great proportions through the per- 
spicuity of one of the local cultivators. It was 
he who first had the idea of preparing for 
market the '' olive-picholine," or green briny 
olive, which figures so universally on dining- 
tables throughout the world. In some respects 
they may not equal the '' queen olives " of 
Spain; but the olives of Provence have a deli- 
cacy that is far more subtle, and the real en- 
thusiast will become so addicted to eating the 
olive of Provence on its native heath that it 
will become an incurable habit, like cigarettes 
or golf. 

From St. Chamas to Berre is scarce a dozen 



98 Rambles on the Riviera 

kilometres, but, to the traveller from the north, 
the journey will be full of marvels and sur- 
prises. The panorama which unfolds itself at 
every step is of surpassing beauty, though not 
so very grand or magnificent. 

" La Petite Mer " is in full view, the oppo- 
site shore lost in the refulgence of a reflected 
glow, as if it were the open sea itself. All 
around its rim are the rocky hills, of which 
the highest, the Tete Noire, rises to perhaps 
fifteen hundred feet. 

Everywhere there are goats, and many of 
them great long-haired beasts, the females of 
which give an unusually abundant supply of 
milk. For a long period, on the shores of the 
Etang de Berre, there were no cows, and the 
inhabitants depended for their milk-supply 
solely upon the goat, which the French prop- 
erly enough call '^ la vache du pauvre." Like 
the love of the olive, that for goat's milk is 
an acquired taste. 

The first apparition of the city of Berre is 
charming, and, like Martigues, it is a sort of 
a cross between Venice and Amsterdam. Its 
streets, like its canals and basins, are narrow 
and winding, though for the most part it 
stretches itself out along one slim thorough- 
fare. Its aspect, apparently, has not changed 



The Etang de Berre 99 

in thirty years, when Taine wrote his impres- 
sions of " ces rues d'une etroitesse etonnante." 
He made a further comment which does not 
hold true to-day. He said that there was an 
infectious odour of concentrated humanity, 
with the dust and mud of centuries still over 
all. From the very paradox of the description 
it is not difficult to infer that he nodded, and 
assuredly Berre is not to-day, if it ever was, 
sale, comme si depuis le commencement des 
siecles. 

All the same Berre is not a progressive 
town, as is shown by the fact that between the 
two last censuses its population has fallen from 
eighteen hundred to fifteen. However, its trade 
has increased perceptibly, thanks to the salt 
works here, and the tiny port gave a haven, in 
the year past, to a hundred craft averaging a 
hundred tons each. 

Northward from the shores of the Etang de 
Berre lies Salon, the most commercial of all 
the cities and towns between Aries and Mar- 
seilles. Differing greatly from the lowlands 
lying round about. Salon is the centre of a ver- 
dant garden-spot reclaimed by the monks of St. 
Sauveur from an ancient marshy plain. In 
reality the town owes its existence to Jeanne 
de Naples, who, forced to flee from her king- 



100 Rambles on the Riviera 

dom in 1357, dreamed of establishing another 
here in Provence. She actually did take up 
a portion of the country, and the village of 
Salon, through the erection of a donjon and a 
royal residence, took on some of the character- 
istics of a capital. 

In spite of its royal patronage, the chief 
deity of Salon was Nostradamus, who was born 
at St. Remy, of Jewish parents, in 1503. Des- 
tined for the medical profession, he completed 
his studies at Montpellier and retired to Salon 
to produce that curious work called " Cen- 
turies," he having come to believe that he was 
possessed of the spirit of prophecy to such an 
extent that his mission was really to enlighten 
rather than cure the world. 

Michael Nostradamus and his prophecies cre- 
ated some stir in the world, for it was a super- 
stitious age. The Medici was doing her part 
in the patronizing of astrologers and necro- 
mancers, and promptly became a patron of this 
new seer of Provence, though never forswear- 
ing allegiance to her pet Ruggieri. It is on 
record that Catherine got a horoscope of the 
lives of her sons from Nostradamus and showed 
him great deference. 

After this all the world of princes and sei- 
gneurs flocked to the prophet's house at Salon, 



The Etang de Berre 101 

which became a veritable shrine, with a living 
deity to do the honours. To-day one may see 
his tomb in the parish church of St. Laurent. 

The traffic in olives and olive-oil is very con- 
siderable at Salon; indeed, one may say that 
it is the centre of the industry in all Provence, 
for the olives known as " Bouches-du-Rhone " 
are the most sought for in the French market, 
and bring a higher price than those of the Var, 
or of Spain, Sicily, or Tunis. 

Not far from the northern shores of the 
Etang de Berre, just above Salon, runs the 
great national highway from Paris to Antibes, 
branching off to Marseilles just before reach- 
ing Aix-en-Provence. The railway also passes 
through the heart of the same region; but, in 
spite of it all, only few really know the lovely 
country round about. 

The region is historic ground, though in de- 
tail it perhaps has not the general interest 
of the Campagne d 'Aries or Vaucluse; still it 
has an abounding interest for the traveller by 
road, and nowhere will one find a greater vari- 
ety of topography or a pleasanter, milder land 
than in this neglected corner of Provence. 

The roads here are flat, level stretches, five, 
ten, or more kilometres in length, and are as 
straight as an arrow. There is a kilometre 



102 



Rambles on the Riviera 



stretch just west of Salon that the Automobile 
Club de France has adjudged to be perfectly 
level, and there a road-devouring monster of 
200 h. p. recently made a world's record for 
the flying kilometre of 20% seconds. 
Before returning to the shores of the £itang 




The Kilometre West of Salon 



de Berre, one should make a detour to Eoque- 
favour and Ventabren. One finds a complete 
change of scene and colouring, quite another 
atmosphere in fact, and yet it is only a scant 
ten kilometres off the route. 

The chateau and aqueduct of Eoquefavour 
are each a sermon in stone, the latter one of 
those engineering feats of modern times, which, 
unlike wire-rope bridges and sky-scrapers, have 



The Etang de Berre 103 

something of the elements of beauty in their 
make-up. 

Near by, on a rocky promontory, with a base 
so firm that all the winds of the four quarters 
could never shake its foundations, is the sig- 
nificantly named village of Ventabren. All 
about are the ruins of the magnificence which 
had existed before, somewhat reminiscent of 
Les Baux, while beneath flows the river Arc, 
the alluvial soil of whose bed has proved so 
advantageous to the vine-culture hereabouts. 

The aqueduct of Roquefavour has not had 
the benefit of six centuries of aging possessed 
by that similar work near Nimes, the Pont du 
Gard of Agrippa; but it harmonizes wender- 
fully with the surrounding landscape, in spite 
of the fact that it is only a mid-nineteenth- 
century work, built to conduct water to Mar- 
seilles from far up the valley of the Durance. 
Overhead, and beneath the ground, for 122 
kilometres, runs the canal until here, where 
it crosses the Arc, the monumental viaduct has 
proved to be a more stupendous work than any 
undertaken by the Romans, who, supposedly, 
were the master builders of aqueducts. 

On returning to the £itang, and after passing 
several perilously perched hillside villages, one 
comes suddenly to Marignane, a name which is 



104 Rambles on the Riviera 

little known or recognized. The town is very 
contracted, and it is wofuUy lacking in every 
modern convenience, except the electric light, 
which, curiously enough, its more opulent 
neighbour, Martigues, lacks. 

Marignane preserves traces of the Roman 
occupation, though what its status among the 
cities of the ancient Provincia may have been 
will perhaps ever remain in doubt. Princi- 
pally it will be loved for its chateau of Renais- 
sance times, which belonged to Mirabeau's 
mother, who was of the seigneurial family of 
Marignane. It is not a remarkably beautiful 
building, but it is a satisfactory one in every 
way, and, though now in a state of decrepitude, 
it is a monumental reminder of other days and 
other ways. The Hotel de Ville occupies the old 
chateau, but nothing very lively ever takes 
place there except the civil marriages of the 
commune, participants in which would, it seems, 
rather have the knot tied there than in any 
other similar edifice. Only the fagade misses 
being a ruin, but all parts preserve the ele- 
gance — in suggestion, at least — of its former 
glory, and the great state chamber has been 
well preserved and cared for. 

Formerly the town had the usual fortifica- 
tions with which important mediaeval cities 



The Etang de Berre 105 

were surrounded, but they have now disap- 
peared, and one will have to turn his steps to 
Salon for any ruins that suggest feudalism. 

There has ever been a contention between 
archaeologists and historians as to the exact 
location of the Maritima of Pliny and Ptolemy, 
a designation given to a colony of Avatici, in 
the days when the sea power of the Greeks and 
Romans seemed likely never to wane. The 
question is stilL unsettled and crops up again 
and again. 

Marignane, on the shores of the Etang de 
Bolmon, — an offshoot of that wonderfully fas- 
cinating Etang de Berre, — was, perhaps, the 
ancient Maritima Colonia Avaticorum, and 
Martigues, its grander and better known neigh- 
bour, may have borne the title of Maritima 
Colonia Anatiliorum. As a mere matter of 
title, it is a fine distinction anyway, but every- 
thing points to the fact that the ancients had 
a great port somewhere on the shores of this 
landlocked Etang. Just where this may have 
been, and what its name was, is not so clear 
to-day, for there is scarcely more than a dozen 
feet of water in the shallow parts of the l^tang, 
and this fact of itself would seem to preclude 
that it was ever a rival of the great ports of 
the Mediterranean of other days. The specu- 



106 Rambles on the Riviera 

lation, at any rate, will give food for thought 
to any who are interested, and whether this 
same Etang ever becomes, as is prophesied, a 
great series of ports and docks which will more 
than rival Marseilles, does not matter in the 
least. To-day the £]tang de Berre is quite un- 
spoiled in all the charm and novelty of its 
environment and of the little salt-water towns 
which surround it. 



CHAPTER VII. 

A seascape: from the RHONE TO MARSEILLES 

The Bouches-du-Rhone, like the delta of the 
Mississippi, is a great sprawling area of sand- 
bars and currents of brackish water. For 
miles in any direction, as the eye turns, it is 
as if a bit of water-logged Holland had been 
transported to the Mediterranean, with sand- 
dunes and a scrubby growth of furze as the 
only recognizable characteristics. 

As a great and useful waterway, the Rhone 
falls conspicuously from the position which it 
might have occupied had nature given it a more 
regular and dependable flow of water. 

The canals from Beaucaire through the Ca- 
margue and from Aries to the Golfe de Fos 
are the only things that make possible water 
communication between the Mediterranean and 
the towns and cities of the mid-Rhone valley. 

The Golfe des Lions, or the Golfe de Lyon, 
as it is frequently called, is the great bay lying 
between the coast of the Narbonnaise and the 

107 



108 



Rambles on the Eiviera 




From the Rhone to Marseilles 109 



headlands just to the eastward of Marseilles. 
It is a tempestuous body of water, when the 
north wind blows, and travellers by sea, in and 
out of Marseilles, have learned to dread it as 
if it were the Bay of Biscay itself. 

Just eastward of the mouths of the Ehone 
is a smaller indentation in the coast-line, the 
Golfe de Fos, known to mariners as being the 
best anchorage between Marseilles and the 
Bouches-du-Rhone, and which has received a 
local name of '' Anse du Repos " and '* Mouil- 
lage d'Aigues douce s." 

Surrounding the Golfe de Fos, and indeed 
west of the Rhone, are numerous ponds and 
marshy bays, similar to the great inland sea 
of Berre. The Golfe de Fos is generally 
thought to be the ancient Mer Avatique, one of 
whose salty arms is known as " I'Estomac," 
probably a corruption of an old Provencal ex- 
pression, lou stoma, or perhaps because it is 
the site of a colony of the Marseillais known 
as Stoma Limne, which was established here 
a century before the beginning of the Christian 
era. 

Later the Senate of Rome designated Marius 
as governor of the region, and he came with 
his legions and established himself here at the 
mouth of the Rhone. He even attempted the 



110 Rambles on the Riviera 

then gigantic work of cutting a free waterway 
from Aries to the sea, and thns arose — on this 
spot, beyond a doubt, if circumstantial history 
counts for anything — the Port des Fosses 
Mariennes which for a long time has been so 
great a speculation to French historians. 

The port became the faubourg maritime 
of Aries, as did the Piraeus for Athens. It 
was at this time that the name of Lion, or Lyon, 
was given to the great bay which washes the 
coast of the ancient Narbonnaise. It grew up 
from the fact that the Arlesien shipping was 
ever in evidence on its waters, bearing aloft 
their flags and banners '' blazoned with lions." 
As the number of these ships of Aries was 
great, the name came gradually to be adopted. 
The explanation seems plausible, and the count- 
less thousands who now traverse its waters in 
great steamships, coming and going from Mar- 
seilles, need no longer speculate as to the origin 
of the name. 

The disappearance of the Roman Empire 
caused the decadence of the Fossis Marianis, 
as the name had been modified, and the inva- 
sion of the barbarians drove the inhabitants 
to the neighbouring heights, which they forti- 
fied. This Castrum de Fossis became in time 
the Chateau des Fosses Mariennes, and what 



From the Rhone t o Marseilles 111 

is left of it, or at least the site, is so known 
to-day. In the middle ages the town became 
a Marquisat belonging to the Vicomtes de Mar- 
seille, but in 1393 it bought its freedom and 
became a communaute. 

To-day the little town of Fos-sur-Mer is a 
queer mixture of the old and new, of indolence 







Fos -sur-Mer 

and industry; but the complex sky-line of its 
old chateau, seen over the marshes, is as fairy- 
like and mediaeval as old Carcassonne itself; 
which is saying the most that can be said of a 
crumbling old walled town. It is not so grand, 
nor indeed so well preserved, as Carcassonne, 
but it has all the characteristics, if in a lesser 
degree. 



112 Rambles on the Riviera 

Fos has a wonderful industry in the manu- 
facture of paper and cellulose from the alfa, 
a textile plant which grows in abundance on 
the high plateaux of Algeria. Added, in cer- 
tain proportions, to the cane or bamboo of 
Provence, it produces a most excellent fibre for 
the fabrication of high-grade papers; in a 
measure a very good imitation of the fine vel- 
lum and parchment papers of Japan and China. 

From Fos it is but a step to Port de Bouc, 
the more modern neighbour, and the gateway 
by which the products of the Fos of to-day 
reach the outside world. 

Here, in miniature, are all the indications 
of a world-port. It is a picturesque waterside 
town, the tall chimneys of its factories, the 
masts and funnels of the ships at its quays, 
and the tall spars of the lateen-rigged " tar- 
tanes," all producing a wonderfully serrated 
sky-line of the kind loved by artists; but, oh! 
so difficult for them to reproduce satisfactorily. 
Besides these features there is also the near-by 
fort and the lighthouse which gleams forth a 
sailor's warning a dozen miles out to sea. The 
hum of industry and the generally imposing 
aspect of the port leads one to suppose, from 
a distance, that the town is vastly more popu- 
lous than it really is; but for all that it is an 




Chateauneuf 



From the Rhone to Marseille 113 

interesting note in one's itinerary along Medi- 
terranean shores. 

The whole range of hills south of Martigues, 
and bordering upon the Mediterranean itself, 
is a round of tiny hill towns, which, like St. 
Pierre and Chateauneuf, dot the landscape 
with their spires of wrought iron surmounting 
the belfries of their yellow stone churches and 
presenting a grouping quite foreign to most 
things seen in France. They are not Italian 
and they are not Spanish, .neither are they any 
distinct French type; hence they can only be 
classed as exotics which have taken root from 
some previous importation. 

One's itinerary along the Provencal coast, 
from the mouths of the Rhone toward Mar- 
seilles, comes abruptly to a stop when he 
reaches the height of Cap Couronne, which 
rises just east of the entrance to the l^tang de 
Caronte, and sees that wonderful panorama 
of the Golfe de Lyon, with the distant pall of 
smoky industry at its extreme eastern horizon. 

The name Couronne is certainly apropos of 
this dominant headland, under whose flanks are 
innumerable natural shelters and anchorages. 
The application of the name has a more prac- 
tical side, however. In Provencal the word 
'' cairon " means limestone, and, since there 



114 Rambles on the Riviera 




Roadside Chapel, St. Pierre 



From the Rhone to Marseilles 115 

have been for ages past great limestone quar- 
ries here, it is not difficult to recognize the 
origin of the name. 

The dusts' of the great routes of travel are 
left behind as one climbs the gentle slope of 
the Estaque range from Martigues. After 
having passed the rock-cut village of St. Pierre 
and ascended the incline on the opposite side 
of the valley, he finds himself on the height 
of Cap Couronne, and the Mediterranean itself 
bursts all at once upon his gaze, in much the 
same fashion as the dawn comes up at Man- 
dalay. 

Cap Couronne plunges abruptly at one's 
feet, and the shadowy outlines of the distant 
flat shores of the Bouches-du-Rhone lie to the 
westward, while directly east is the most won- 
derfully light rose and purple promontory that 
one may see outside of Capri and the Bay of 
Naples. It is the eastern side of Marseilles, 
which itself, with its spouting chimneys, ac- 
cents the brilliant landscape in a manner which, 
if not ideal, is, at least, not offensive. 

Who among our modern artists could do this 
view justice? The blue of the cloudless sky; 
the ultramarine waves; and the shabby sel- 
vage of smoke, all blending so marvellously 
with the pink and purple of the setting sun. 



116 Rambles on the Riviera 

Turner might have done it in times past ; doubt- 
less could have done so ; and Whistler — wait- 
ing until a little later in the evening — would 
have made a symphony of it; but any living 
artist, called to mind at the moment, would 
have bungled it sadly. It is one of those wide- 
open seascapes which the art-lover must see 
au naturel in order to worship. Nothing on the 
Riviera — that cinematograph of magic pano- 
ramas — can equal or surpass the late after- 
noon view from Cap Couronne. 

Before one descends upon Marseilles from 
the Estaque, he comes upon the little village 
of Carry. 

Of the antiquity of the little fishing-port there 
is no question, but it is doubtful if the hordes 
of Marseillais who come here in summer, to 
eat houilldbaisse on the verandas of its restau- 
rants and hotels, know, or care, anything of 
this. 

As the Incarrus Posito, it had an existence 
long before bouillabaisse was ever thought of, 
at least by its present name. It was one of 
the advance-posts of the Massaliotes when 
Marseilles was the Massalia of the Greeks. 

Carry, with its port, and the chateau of M. 
Philippe Jourde, a Frenchman who won his 
fortune on the field of commerce in the United 



From the Rhone to Marseilles 117 

States, is delightful, but it is not usually ac- 
counted one of the sights that is worth the 
while of the Riviera tourist to go out of his 
way to see. 

Within the grounds of the chateau have been 
brought to light within recent years many 
monumental remains ; one bearing the two fol- 
lowing inscriptions bespeaks an antiquity con- 
temporary with the early years of the build- 
ing up of Marseilles: 







AES Ave 






C. POMP EI 




C R lANCO 


PLANTEA 




IP CAIII 
EXCL INIPSNIS 
SEVIR AUGUSTALIS 

I. S. D, 







Besides this, marbles, mosaics, pottery, coins, 
and even precious metals have been found. 
Carry may then have been something more 
than a fortress outpost, or a fishing- village ; 
it may have been a Pompeii. 

Almost at one's elbow is Marseilles itself, 
brilliant and burning with the feverish energies 
of a great mart of trade, and bathed in the 
dark blue of the Mediterranean and the lighter 



118 Rambles on the Riviera 

blue of the skies. Beyond are the isles of the 
bay and the rocky promontories to the east- 
ward, while to the northeast are the heights 
of the Var and the Alpes-Maritimes. Truly 
the kaleidoscopic first view of the ^' Porte de 
r Orient " fully justifies any rhapsodies. There 
is but one other view in all France at all ap- 
proaching it in splendour, — that of Eouen 
from the height of Bon Secours, — and that, 
in effect, is quite different. 

One's approach to Marseilles by rail from 
the north is equally a reminder of a theatrical 
transformation scene, such as one has when he 
reaches Rouen or Cologne ; a sudden unfolding 
of new and strange beauties of prospect, which 
are nothing if not startling. The railway runs 
for many minutes in the obscurity of the Tun- 
nel de la Nerthe before it finally debouches on 
the southern gorges of the Estaque Range, the 
same which flanks the coast all the way from 
Marseilles to the entrance to the Etang de 
Berre. 

Pines and hoursailles and rocky hillocks, set 
out here and there with olive-trees, form the im- 
mediate foreground, while that distant horizon 
of blue, which is everywhere along the Medi- 
terranean, forms a background which is softer 
and more sympathetic than that of any other 



From the Rhone to Marseilles 119 

known body of water, salt or fresh, great or 
small. 

At the base of the first foot-hills of the 
Estaque lies Marseilles, a city enormously alive 
with industry and all the cosmopolitan life of 
one of the most important — if not the great- 
est — of all world-ports. Here human indus- 
try has transformed a naturally beautiful and 
commodious situation into a mighty hive of 
affairs, where its long, straight streets only 
end at the water's edge, and the basins and 
docks are simply great rectangular gulfs, seem- 
ingly endless in their immensity. Great tow- 
ering chimney-stacks of brick punctuate the 
landscape here and there, and the masts of 
vessels and the funnels of steamships carry 
still further the idea of energetic restlessness. 

Offshore are the innumerable rocky islets, 
seemingly merely moored in the sea, around 
which skim myriads of sailing-vessels and 
steamers, quite in the ceaseless manner of cine- 
matograph pictures, while an occasional black 
cloud of smoke indicates the presence of a great 
liner from the Far East, making port with its 
cargo of humanity and the silks and spices of 
the Orient. 

The view of the waterside and offshore Mar- 
seilles, with the harmonious Mediterranean 



120 Rambles on the Riviera 

blue blending into all, is transplendent in its 
loveliness. Nothing is green or gray, as it is 
at Bordeaux, or Nantes, or Le Havre; and 
none of the fog or smoke of the great cities 
of mid-France, of Paris, of Lyons, or of St. 
Etienne is here visible; instead all is brilliant 
— garishly brilliant, if you like, but still har- 
moniously so — in a blend that compels admira- 
tion. 

Marseilles is a great conglomerate city made 
up by the intermingling of the neighbouring 
villages, bourgs, and petites villes until they 
have quite lost their own identity in the com- 
munion of the greater. 

Some day the Ehone will empty itself into 
the great Bassins of the port of Marseilles; 
that is, if the moving of the traffic of the port 
to the Etang de Berre at Martigues and Berre 
does not take place, which is unlikely. When 
the chalands and peniches du nord can come 
from Le Havre, from Rouen, from Antwerp, 
and from Paris direct to the quays of Mar- 
seilles, by way of the canals and the Rhone, an 
additional prosperity will have come to this 
greatest of all Mediterranean ports. No more 
will it be a struggle with Genoa and Triest; 
and Marseilles will grow still grander and 
more lively and cosmopolitan. 



From the Rhone to Marseilles 121 

In her efforts in this direction Marseilles has 
found an ardent ally in Lyons, whose Chamber 
of Commerce has ever lent its aid toward this 
end, burying all jealousies as to which shall 
become the second city of France. Lyons, be 
it understood, great and industrious as it is, 
is at a distinct disadvantage in transportation 
matters by reason of its geographical position, 
although it already possesses at Port St. Louis, 
at the mouth of the Grand Rhone, a port of 
transhipment for all cumbersome goods which 
proceed by way of the towed convoys of the 
Rhone canals. With direct communication with 
Marseilles one handling will be saved and much 
money, hence all Lyonnais pray for this new 
state of affairs to be speedily brought about. 
The day when the chalands of the Seine can 
meet the nav aires of La Joliette, Marseilles will 
surpass Antwerp and Hamburg, say the Mar- 
seillais. 



CHAPTEE Vm. 

MAESEILLES — COSMOPOLIS 

Maeseilles has more than once been called 
the Babylon of the south, and with truth, for 
such a babel of many tongues is to be heard 
in no Latin or Teuton city in the known world. 

At Marseilles all is tumultuous and gay, and 
the Cannebiere is the gayest of all. Mery per- 
petuated its fame, or at any rate spread it far 
and wide, when he said, " Si Paris avait une 
Cannebiere, ce serait un petit Marseille." It 
is not a long thoroughfare, this Cannebiere, in 
spite of its extension in the Rue de Noailles, 
but its animation and its gaiety give it an 
incontestable air of grandeur which many more 
pretentious thoroughfares entirely lack. Lyons 
has more beautiful streets, and Paris has ave- 
nues and boulevards more densely thronged, 
but the Cannebiere has a character that is all 
its own, and a reputation for worldliness which 
it lives up to in every particular. In reality 
the Cannebiere is Marseilles, the palpitating 

122 



Marseilles — Cosmopolis 123 

heart of the second city of France. One does 
not need to go far away, however, before he 
comes to the tranquillity and convention of the 
average provincial capital, and for this reason 
this great street of luxurious shops and grand 
hotels is the more remarkable, and the contrast 
the more absolute. By ten o'clock the whole 
city of convention sleeps, but the Cannebiere 
and its cafes are as full of light and noise as 
ever, and remain so until one or two in the 
morning. 

Not only does the Cannebiere captivate the 
stranger, but each of the various quartiers does 
the same, until one realizes that the life of 
Marseilles unrolls itself as does no other in 
provincial France. The arts, science, industry, 
commerce, and the shipping all have their sep- 
arate and distinct quarters, where the life of 
their own affairs is ceaseless and brings a con- 
tent which only comes from industry. Twenty- 
five centuries have rolled by since the founda- 
tions of the present prosperity of Marseilles 
were laid, and nowhere has the star of progress 
burned more brilliantly. 

Fortunate among all other great cities, Mar- 
seilles has preserved all the essential elements 
of its former glory and opulence, and even 
added to them with the advance of ages, re- 



124 Rambles on the Riviera 

maining meanwhile encore jeune, souriante, ro- 
buste, comme si le temps ne pouvait rien sur 
sa force sereine, sur sa triomphante heaide." 

Save the Byzance of antiquity, no seaport 
of history has enjoyed a role so brilliant or 
so extended as Marseilles. The great mari- 
time cities of antiquity have disappeared, but 
Marseilles goes on aggrandizing itself for ever, 
with — in spite of very general transformation 
— the impress of the successive epochs, Greek, 
Roman, Frankish, and feudal, still in evidence, 
here and there where the memory of some 
quaint and bygone custom is unearthed or some 
mediaeval monument is brought to light. 

By no means is all of the butterfly order 
here in the Mediterranean metropolis. '' Les 
affaires '' are very serious affairs, and prof- 
itable ones to those engaged in their pursuit, 
and the Marseillais business man is as keen 
as his fellows anj^where. There is also a life 
redolent of science and art, as vivid as that of 
the capital itself, and the press of Marseilles 
is one of the most literary in a nation of lit- 
erary newspapers. Taine slandered Marseilles 
when he said that it was wholly given up to 
" la grosse joie/' as he did also when he said 
that the pleasure of its inhabitants was to make 
m.oney out of breadstuifs or gamble in oil, or 



Marseilles — Cosmopolis 125 

some such words. And Taine was a Marseil- 
lais, too. 

Here, as in many others of the old-world 
cities of France, are streets so narrow that a 
cart may not turn around in them, all busy with 
the little atfairs of the lower classes, full of 
taverns, bars and debits de vin, cheap cafes- 
chantants, — from which the stranger had best 
keep out, — and from one end to the other full 
of straggling sailors of all nationalities and 
tongues under the sun. 

This population of sailors and dock-labour- 
ers is of a certain doubtful social probity, but 
all the same the spectacle is unique, and far 
more edifying to witness than a midnight ram- 
ble through San Francisco 's Chinatown, though 
perhaps more fraught with danger to one's 
person. 

The Rue de la Eepublique has pushed its 
way through this old quartier, but it has 
brought with it none of the modern life of the 
newer parts of the town, and the narrow, tor- 
tuous streets around and about the " Hotel 
Dieu " are as brutally uncouth as any old-time 
quarter of a great city peopled by the poorer 
classes ; with this difference, that at Marseilles 
everything, good, bad, and indifferent, is ex- 
aggerated. 



126 Rambles on the Riviera 

It is here in this old quarter that one finds 
the true type of the Marseillais as he was in 
other days, if one knows where to look for him, 
and what he looks like when he meets him, for 
Marseilles is so full of strange men and women 
that the bird of passage is likely enough to 
confound Greek with Jew and Lascar with 
Arab, to say nothing of the difficulty of putting 
the Maltese and Portuguese in their proper 
places in the medley. When it comes to dis- 
tinguishing the Provengal from the Marseillais 
and the Nigois from the Catalan, the task is 
more difficult still. 

The Marseillais pur sang (except that it has 
been many centuries since he has been pur 
sang) is a unique type among the inhabitants 
of France, the product of many successive im- 
migrations from most of the Mediterranean 
countries. He is indeed an extraordinary de- 
velopment, though in no way outre or unsym- 
pathetic, in spite of being a bloodthirsty-look- 
ing individual. To describe him were impos- 
sible. The Marseillais is a Marseillais by his 
dark complexion, by his svelt figure, and by 
the exuberance of his gestures and his voice. 
Always ready for adventure or pleasure, he 
is the very stuff of which the sea-rovers of 
another day were made. 



Marseilles — Cosmopolis 127 

The Marseillais has been portrayed by many 
a French writer, and his virtues have been 
lauded and his faults exposed. Mery, a Mar- 
seillais himself, has traced an amusing char- 
acter, while Edmond About and Taine were 
both struck by the Marseillais love of lucre 
and violent amusements. Alexandre Dumas 
has drawn more or less idyllic portraits of him. 

The topographical transformation of Mar- 
seilles in recent times has been great. It was 
the first among the great cities of France to 
cut new streets and build sumptuous modern 
palaces devoted to civic affairs. The Eue de 
la Eepublique, if still lined in part with inferior 
houses, is nevertheless one of the fine thorough- 
fares of the world. Its laying out was a colos- 
sal task, cutting through the most solidly built 
and most ancient quarter of the city. Neither 
the aristocratic nor the bourgeois population 
have ever come to it for business or residence, 
but it serves the conduct of affairs in a way 
which the tortuous streets of the old regime 
would not have done. Many of the great ave- 
nues of the city are as grand in their way as 
the best and most aristocratic of those in Paris, 
and the world of commerce, of the Bourse, and 
of the liberal professions, lives surrounded by 
as much sumptuousness and good taste as the 



128 Rambles on the Riviera 

same classes in the capital itself. In other 
words, " la societe Marseillais '^ is no less en- 
dowed with good taste and the love of luxurious 
appointments and surroundings than is the 
most Parisian of Parisian circles, — a term 
which has come to mean much in the retiiie- 
ments of modern life. '' Des plaisirs hruyants 
et grossiers " may have struck the Taines of 
a former day, but the twentieth-century student 
of men and affairs will not place the Marseil- 
lais and the things of his household very far 
down in the social scale, provided he is pos- 
sessed of a mind which is trained to make just 
estimates. 

Le Prado is another of the fine streets of 
Marseilles. It is a majestic boulevard, the con- 
tinuation of the Eue de Rome, beyond the Place 
Castellane. Practically it is a great tree-bor- 
dered avenue, which is lined with the gardens 
of handsome villas. It is as attractive as Unter 
den Linden or the Champs Elysees. 

Marseilles has many specialities. Bouilla- 
baisse is one of them; flowers, which you buy 
at a ridiculous low price at those curious little 
pulpits which line the Cours St. Louis, are an- 
other ; and a third are the strawberries, which 
are here brought to one's door and sold in all 
the perfection of fresh picked fruit. They are 



Marseilles — Cosmopolis 



129 



sold in " pots " of porous stone, covered with 
a peculiar gray paper, and the size and ca- 
pacity of the ' ' pots ' ' is regulated by a munic- 
ipal decree. The " grand pot " must contain 
four hundred grammes, and the *^ petit pot " 
two hundred. All of which is vastly more sat- 
isfactory for the purchaser than the false-bot- 




■3-MtM.. „„s- 



Flower Market, Cours St. Louis 



tomed box of America or the underweighted 
scales of the greengrocer in England. 

This " pot-a-f raise " of Marseilles is a com- 
modity strictly local, and no fresh fruit is more 
in demand in season than the strawberries of 
Eoquevaire, Beaudinard, and Aubagne. The 
season's consumption of strawberries at Mar- 
seilles is 350,000 litres. 



130 Rambles on the Riviera 

The street cries of Marseilles may not be 
as famous as those of London, but they are 
many and lively nevertheless. Fish, fruit, and 
many other things form the burden of the cries 
one hears at Marseilles in these days ; but, like 
most of the picturesque old customs, this is 
being crowded out. The itinerant vitrier still 
makes his round, however, and you may hear 
him any day: 

" Encore un carreaii cass6 
Voici le vitrier qui passe. ..." 

In this connection it is interesting to recall 
that all glass made in Provence in the thir- 
teenth century was by authorization of the 
Bishop of Marseilles, and that the industry 
was entirely in the hands of the Chartreux 
monks. Only in the fifteenth century, at the 
hands of the good King Rene, did the trade 
receive any extension. 

The fishing industry has ever been prominent 
in the minor affairs of Marseilles. The ancient 
Provengal government guaranteed the fishing 
rights to certain '^ patrons pecheurs/' and, 
when the province was united with the Crown 
of France, in 1481, the Grand Seneschal con- 
firmed the privileges in the name of Louis XL 



Marseilles — Cosmopolis 131 

They were again confirmed, in 1536, by Fran- 
gois I., and in 1557 by Henri 11. 

By letters patent, in December, 1607, Henri 
IV. gave a permit to the pecheurs of Marseilles 
which allowed them to sell their fish in all villes 
de mer that they might choose, and to be free 
from paying any tax for the privilege. Thus 
it is seen that from the very earliest times the 
traffic was one which was bound to prosper 
and add to the city's wealth and independence. 

Louis XIII. was even more liberal. He ex- 
tended the right of control of the fishing, even 
by strangers, to the '^ Pnid'hommes de Mar- 
seilles " (a sort of a fishing guild, which en- 
dures even unto to-day), and forbade any tak- 
ing of fish between Cap Couronne and Cap de 
I'Aigle, except with their permission. 

Louis XIV., on a certain occasion, when he 
was passing through Marseilles, confirmed all 
that his predecessors had granted, and further 
accorded them 3,500 minots of salt, at a price 
of eleven livres per minot. 

The ''Prud'hommes " formed a sort of court 
or tribunal which regulated all disputes be- 
tween members. To open a case one merely 
had to deposit two sols in a box, the contents 
of which were destined for the poor (the other 
side contributing also), and four of the chosen 



132 Rambles on the Riviera 

number of tlie "Prudliommes " sat in judg- 
ment upon the question at issue. The loser was 
addressed in the short and explicit formula, 
" La loi vous condamne," and forthwith he 
either had to pay up, or his boats and nets were 
seized. "Never was there a law so efficacious," 
says the historian of this interesting guild; 
and all will be inclined to agree with him. 

The "Prud'hommes '' of Marseilles still exist 
as an institution, but their picturesque costume 
of other days has, it is needless to say, disap- 
peared. The old-time "Prud'homme," with a 
Henri Quatre mantle, a velvet toque for a hat, 
and a two-handed sword, would be a strange 
figure on the streets of up-to-date Marseilles. 

The amateur fisherman in France is not the 
minor factor that English Nimrods would have 
one believe, though the mere taking of fish is 
a side issue with him. Not always does he make 
of it a solitary occupation. At Marseilles he 
has his '* fishing excursions " and his '' chow- 
der-parties," and the deep-sea -fishing bouts 
held off the Provengal coast would do credit to 
a Eockaway skipper. 

Eead the following announcement of the ban- 
quet of '^ La Societe de Peche la Girelle " of 
Marseilles, culled from a morning paper: 

" Members will meet at six o'clock in the 



Marseilles — Cosmopolis 133 

morning, and will leave for the Planier (Mar- 
seilles' great far-reaching light) grounds ' sur 
le bateau a vapeur le Cannois; ' the overflow 
in small boats. To return at noon for a grand 
banquet ches Mistral. Bouillabaisse et toute le 
reste." 

Another great passion of the Marseillais, of 
all classes, is for the '^ campagne." The 
wealthy commergant has his sumptuous villa 
— always gaily built, but a sad thing from an 
architectural point of view — in the valley of 
the Huveaune, or on the slopes of the " Cor- 
niche " overlooking the Mediterranean. The 
petit bourgeois, the shopkeeper or the man of 
small affairs, contents himself with a cab anon, 
but it is his maison de campagne just the same. 
It is merely a stone hut with a tiny terrace 
fronting it on the sunny side, sheltered by a 
tonnelle, and that is all. The proprietor of 
this grand affair spends his Sundays and his 
fete-days throughout the year here on the slope 
of some rocky hill overlooking the sea, sleeps 
on a camp bedstead, and goes out early in the 
morning pour la peche, in the hope of taking 
fish enough to make his bouillabaisse. Prob- 
ably he will catch nothing, but he will have 
his bouillabaisse just the same, even if he has 
to go back to town to get it in a quayside res- 



134 Rambles on the Riviera 

taurant. This is a simple and healthful enough 
way to spend one's time assuredly, so why cavil 
at it, in spite of its ludicrous and juvenile side, 
— a sort of playing at housekeeping. 

The cabanons are numerous for miles around 
Marseilles in every direction, above all on the 
hills overlooking the sea and in the valleys 
of the Oriol, the Berger, and the Huveaune, 
in fact, in any ravine where one may gain a 
foothold and hire a pied-de-terre for fifty to 
a hundred francs a year. 

The real traveller of enthusiasm, the kind 
that Sterne wrote for when he said " let us 
go to France," will not be content merely to 
know Marseilles, the town, but will wander 
afield to Estaque, to AUauch, to Les Aygalades, 
and to any and all of the scores of excursion 
points which the Marseillais, more than the 
inhabitants of any other city in France, are 
so fond of visiting. Then, and then only, will 
one know the real life of the Marseillais. 

The tour of the shores of the golfe alone 
will occupy a week of one's time very profit- 
ably, be he poet or painter. 

At Les Aygalades are the remains of a Car- 
melite chapel, which came under the special 
patronage of King Eene of Anjou, also a cha- 
teau constructed for the Marechal de Villars. 




A Cahanon 



Marseilles — Cosmopolis 135 

Back of the Bassin d'Arenc is a hamlet, now 
virtually a part of Marseilles itself, perched 
high upon a hill, from which one gets a mar- 
vellous panorama of all the life of the great 
seaport. 

Seon-Saint-Andre was formerly a suburb 
composed entirely of vineyards, where pictur- 
esque peasants worked and sang as they do in 
opera, and spent their evenings rejoicing over 
the one great meal of the day. To-day all sug- 
gestion of this rural and sylvan life has dis- 
appeared, and brick-yards and soap-factories 
furnish an entirely different colour scheme for 
one's canvas. 

At St. Julien Caesar had one of his many 
camps which he so plentifully scattered over 
Gaul, and, as usual, he selected it with judg- 
ment; certainly nothing but modern engines 
of war could ever have successfully attacked 
his intrenchments from land or sea. 

All the country immediately back of Mar- 
seilles to the eastward was, in a former day, 
covered with a dense forest. A breach was 
made in it by Charles IX., who had not the 
least notion of what the preservation of the 
kingdom's resources meant, though another 
monarch, Eene d'Anjou, came here frequently 
to the tiny chapel of St. Marguerite — the 



136 Rambles on the Riviera 

remains of which still exist in the suburb of 
the same name — to pray that he might be 
favoured by capturing " the deer of many 
horns." From this latter fact it may be in- 
ferred that he was a true lover and preserver 
of forests, like the later FrauQois of Renais- 
sance times. 

Offshore the islands of the bay contain much 
of historic interest, including the Chateau d'lf 
with all its array of fact and romance, the lies 
Pomegue and Eattonneau, and the He de Riou. 
The latter lies just eastward of the Planier 
and is so small as to be hardly recognizable 
on the map, and yet prolific in the remains of 
a civilization of another day. It was only 
within the present year (1905) that an en- 
graved silex was discovered buried in its sandy 
soil. This stone was identical with those in- 
scribed stones found in Egypt from time to 
time, and dating from a period long previous 
to any recorded history of that country. 

This sermon in stone was presented to the 
French Academy of Inscriptions, and by them 
thought to prove that the Egyptians, even as 
far back as prehistoric times, had already 
learned the art of navigation by small craft 
(for they were then ignorant of working in 
metal), and in some considerable body had set- 



Marseilles — Cosmopolis 137 

tied here in the neighbourhood of Marseilles 
long before the Phoceans. This is all conjec- 
ture of course, as the stone may have been a 
fragment of a larger morsel which formed the 
anchor of some fishing-boat, or a piece of bal- 
last taken aboard off the Egyptian coast, which 
ultimately found a resting-place here on Riou. 
It may be, even, that some ' ' collector ' ' of ages 
ago brought the stone here as a curio ; in short, 
it may have been transported by any one of a 
hundred ways and at almost any time. At any 
rate, it is all guesswork, regardless of the sen- 
sation which the finding of it made among 
archaeologists ; but it proves that all is not yet 
known of ancient history. 

It is a remarkable view, looking landwards, 
that one gets from the height of the donjon 
of the Chateau d'If. Back of the city, which 
itself is but a short three miles distant, is a 
wonderful framin^of mountainous rocks and 
gray hills set about with olive and fig trees, 
while in the immediate foreground is a forest 
of masts and belching, smoky chimneys which 
give a distance and transparency to the view 
which is almost too picturesque to be true. It 
is no dream, however, and there is nothing of 
illusion about it, and soon a tiny steamboat 
will have brought one back to shore and all the 



138 Rambles on the Riviera 

excitable diversions of the Cannebiere. One 
makes his way to shore around and behind 
innumerable bales, boxes, and baskets, coils of 
rope, charrettes and camions, and treads gin- 
gerly over sleeping roustabouts and sailors. 

The docks and quays of Marseilles will have 
a surprise for those familiar only with the ports 
of La Manche and the western ocean. High 
or low water there makes a considerable eco- 
nomic and picturesque difference, but in the 
Mediterranean there is always a regular depth 
of water; its level is always practically the 
same, and fishing-boats and great Eastern 
liners alike come and go without thought of 
tides or dock-gates. 

The commerce of Marseilles is, as might be 
expected, highly varied, and the flags of all 
the great and small commercial nations are at 
one time or another within its port, whose im- 
portations — not counting the orange boats — 
greatly exceed the exports. Nearly a third of 
the imports are made up of cereals, Marseilles 
being by far the greatest port of entry in 
France for this class of product. Russia, 
Turkey, Algeria, the Indies, and America send 
their wheat. Piedmont and Asia their rice, 
Algeria, Tunis, and Russia their barley, while 



Marseilles — Cosmopolis 139 

beans are sent in great quantities from the 
ports of the Black Sea. 

Marseilles is the centre, the most important 
in all France, for the production of all manner 
of oils, vegetable, mineral, and animal. Petro- 
leum, cotton-seed, the olive, and many kindred 
fruits -and berries all go to make possible a 
vast industry which is famous throughout the 
world. 

Sugar-refining, too, is of great proportions 
here, and the trade of importing and export- 
ing the raw and refined sugars amounts to over 
one hundred millions of kilos per year. Of 
the raw sugar imported, more than two-thirds 
comes from the French colonies, so that, with 
the enormous production of beet-sugar as well, 
France alone, of all European nations, has the 
sugar question solved. 

Coffee forms a considerable part of the trade 
of Marseilles, sixteen to twenty thousand tons 
being handled in one year. This of course 
demonstrates that the French are great coifee- 
drinkers, though the palm goes to Holland for 
the greatest consumption per capita. Cocoa 
and coffee come to France in large quantities 
from Brazil, and pepper from Indo-China. 

It is an interesting fact to record that the 
receipts of cotton in the port of Marseilles are 



140 Rambles on the Riviera 

steadily on the decrease, by far the largest bulk 
now being delivered at Le Havre and Kouen 
by reason of their proximity to the great cot- 
ton-manufacturing centres in Normandy, while 
the mills in the east of France choose to bring 
their supplies through the gateway of Antwerp. 
The traffic at Marseilles has fallen, accordingly, 
from 125,000 bales in 1876 to less than 50,000 
at the present day. On the other hand, the 
importation of the cocoons of the silkworm 
finds its natural gateway at Marseilles, this 
being the most direct route from China, Japan, 
Turkey, Greece, and Austria to the factories 
of Lyons. 

Marseilles is the centre of the soap industry 
of the world, situated as it is in the very heart 
of the region of the olive, which makes not only 
the olive-oil of commerce but the best of com- 
mon soaps as well, including the famous Cas- 
tile soap, which has deserted Castile for Mar- 
seilles. One hundred and twenty-one million 
kilos of soap are made here every year, of 
which a fifth part, at least, is exported to all 
corners of the globe, the bulk being taken by 
the French colonies. 

The passenger traffic of the great liners 
which come and go from this, the chief port 
of the south of Europe, is vast. The move- 



Marseilles — Cosmopolis 



141 







142 Rambles on the Riviera 

ment of paquebots and courriers is incessant, 
not only those that go to the Mediterranean 
ports of Algeria, Spain, Tnnis, Corsica, Italy, 
Greece, Turkey, the Black Sea, and all those 
queer and little known ports of the near East 
as well, but also the great liners, French, Eng- 
lish, German, Dutch, and Italian, which make 
the round voyages to the Far East and Aus- 
tralia with the regularity of Atlantic liners, 
but with vastly more romance about them, for 
the death-dealing pace of twenty-two or twenty- 
three knots an hour is unknown under the 
sunny skies of the Mediterranean and Indian 
Ocean. 

The old and new parts of Marseilles are one 
of the chief attractions for the stranger to this 
fascinating city. The Port Vieux and the new 
Bassins de la Joliette are separated by a penin- 
sula which comprises the chief part of old Mar- 
seilles; indeed it is the site of the primitive 
city of the Phoceans, who came, it is undeniably 
asserted, six hundred years before Christ. 

If the new ports of Marseilles have not the 
same picturesqueness as the Port Vieux, they 
at least overtop it in their intensity of action 
and the fever of commercialism. Here, too, 
hundreds of sailing-vessels (but of an entirely 
different species from those of the old port) 



Marseilles — Cosmopolis 143 

come and go without cessation, bringing the 
diverse products of the Mediterranean shores 
to the markets of the world by way of Mar- 
seilles: piles of golden oranges from the Bal- 
earic Isles, figs from Smyrna, wool from Al- 
geria, rice from Piedmont, arachides from 
Senegal, dyestuffs from Central America, pine 
from Sweden and Norway, and marbles from 
Italy. All this, and more, greets the eye at 
every turn, and the very sight of the varied 
cargoes tells a story which is fascinating and 
romantic even in these worldly times. 

Take the orange cargoes for example; the 
mere handling of them between the ship and 
the shore is as picturesque as one could pos- 
sibly imagine. The unloading is done by 
women called porteiris, all of whom it is said 
are Genoese, although why this should be is 
difficult for the tyro to understand, and the 
master longshoreman under whom they work 
apparently does not know either. The oranges 
are brought on shore in great baskets, which 
are poured out in a steady stream into the cars 
on the quay. During the process all is gay with 
song and laughter, it being one of the prin- 
cipal tenets of the creed of the southern labour- 
ers, men or women, that they must not be dull 
at their work. 



CHAPTER IX. 

A RAMBLE WITH DUMAS AND MONTE CRISTO 

One day, something like four hundred years 
ago, a little colony of Catalans quitted Spain 
and, sailing across the terrible Gulf of Lions, 
came to Marseilles and begged the privilege 
of settling on that jutting tongue of land to 
the left of Marseilles 's Vieux Port, known even 
to-day as the Pointe des Catalans. 

To reach the Pointe and Quartier des Cata- 
lans one follows along the quays of the old 
port and climbs the height to the left. Of 
course one should walk; no genuine literary 
pilgrim ever takes a car, though there is one 
leaving the Cannebiere, marked '' Catalans," 
■every few minutes. 

Dantes's Mercedes was a Catalane of the 
Catalans, and is the most lovable figure in all 
the Dumas portrait gallery. Descended from 
the early settlers of the colony at Marseilles, 
Mercedes, the betrothed of the ambitious 
Dantes, was indeed lovely, that is, if we accept 

144 



With Dumas and Monte Cristo 145 

Dumas 's picture of her, and the author's por- 
traiture was always exceedingly good, what- 
ever may have been his errors when dealing 
with historical fact. 

Half -Moorish, half-Spanish, and with a very 
little Provengal blood, the Catalans kept their 
distinct characteristics, while the other settlers 
of Marseilles developed into the type well 
known and recognized to-day as the Marseil- 
lais. 

Their looks, manners, and customs, their 
houses and their clothes were faithful — and 
are still, to no small extent — to the early tra- 
ditions of the race, and, by intermarrying, the 
type was kept comparatively pure, so that in 
this twentieth century the Catalan women of 
Marseilles are as distinct a species of beautiful 
women as the NiQoise or the Arlesienne, both 
types distinct from their French sisters, and 
each of great repute among the world's beau- 
tiful women. 

Dumas was not very explicit with regard to 
the geography of this Catalan quarter of Mar- 
seilles, though his references to it were numer- 
ous in that most famous of all his romances, 
'' Monte Cristo." 

At the time of which Dumas wrote (1815) 
its topographical aspect had probably changed 



146 Rambles on the Riviera 

but little from what it had been for a matter 
of three or four centuries, and the sea-birds 
then, even as now, hovered about the jutting 
promontory and winged their way backwards 
and forwards across the mouth of the old har- 
bour, where the ugly but useful Pont Trans- 
bordeur now stretches its five hundred metres 
of wire ropes. 

Around the Anse and the Pointe des Catalans 
were — and are still — grouped the habitations 
of the Catalan fisher .and sailor folk. One sees 
to-day, among the men and women alike, the 
same distinction of type which Dumas took for 
his ideal, and one has only to climb any of the 
narrow stairlike streets which wind up from 
the sea-level to see the counterpart of Dantes's 
Mercedes sitting or standing by some open 
doorway. 

For a detailed, but not too lengthy, descrip- 
tion of the manners and customs of the Cata- 
lans of Marseilles, one can not do better than 
turn to the pages of Dumas and read for him- 
self what the great romancer wrote of the 
lovely Mercedes and her kind. 

There are at least a half-dozen chapters of 
' ' Monte Cristo ' ' which, if re-read, would form 
a very interesting commentary on the Mar- 
seilles of other days. 



With Dumas and Monte Crist o 147 

The opening lines of Dumas 's romance gives 
the key-note of old Marseilles: '' On the 28th 
of February, 1815, the watch-tower of Notre 
Dame de la Garde signalled the ' trois-mdts ' 
Pharaon, from Smyrna, Triest, and Naples." 

The functions of Notre Dame de la Garde 
have changed somewhat since that time, but 
it is still the dominant note and beacon by land 
and sea, from which sailors and landsmen alike 
take their bearings, and it is the best of start- 
ing-points for one who would review the past 
history of this most cosmopolitan of all Eu- 
ropean cities. 

High up, overlooking the Chateau du Pharo, 
now a Pasteur Hospital; above the old Abbey 
of St. Victor, now a barracks; and above the 
Fort St. Nicholas, which guards one side of the 
entrance to Marseilles port, is the fort and 
sanctuary of Notre Dame de la Garde. The 
fort was one of the first erections of its class 
by Frangois Premier, who had something of 
a reputation as a fortress-builder as well as 
a designer of chateaux and a winner of women's 
hearts. Originally the fortress-chateau en- 
folded within its walls an ancient chapel to 
Ste. Marie, and an old tower which dated from 
the tenth century. This old tower, overlooking 
the town as well as the harbour, was given the 



148 Rambles on the Riviera 



name of La Garde, which in turn was taken by 
the chateau which ultimately grew up on the 
same site. 

This was long before the days of the present 
gorgeous edifice, which was not consecrated 
until 1864. 

The chateau bore the familiar escutcheon of 
the Roi-Chevalier, the symbolical salamander, 
but as a fortress it never attained any great 
repute, as witness the following poetical satire : 

" C'est Notre Dame de la Garde, 
Gouvernement commode et beau, 
A qui sufRt pour toute garde 
Un Suisse, avec sa hallebarde, 
Peint sur la port du chg,teau." 

The reference was to a painted figure of a 
Swiss on the entrance-door, and whatever the 
irony or cynicism may have been, it was simply 
a forerunner of the time when the fortress 
became no longer a place to be depended upon 
in time of war, though at the time of which 
Dumas wrote it was still a signal-station 
whence ships coming into Marseilles were first 
reported. 

The modern church, in the Byzantine style, 
which now occupies this commanding site, is 
warm in the affections of the sailor-folk of 
Marseilles; besides which it is visited inces- 




Notre Dame de la Garde and the 



Harbour of Marseilles 



With Dumas and Monte Cristo 149 

santly by pilgrims from all parts of the world 
and for all manner of reasons ; some to bring a 
votive offering of a tiny ship and say a prayer 
or two for some dear one travelling by sea; 
another to place at the foot of the statue of 
'' La Bonne Mere " a golden heart, as a talis- 
man of a firm affection ; and others to leave lit- 
tle ivory replicas of a foot or an arm which had 
miraculously recovered from some crippling 
accident. Add to these the curious, and those 
who come for the view, and the numbers who 
ascend to this commanding height by the nar- 
row streets of steps, or the funiculaire, are 
many indeed. As an enterprise for the purpose 
of vending photographic souvenirs, the whole 
combination takes on huge proportions. The 
church is really a most ornate and luxurious 
work, built of the marbles of Carrara and 
Africa, on the pure Byzantine plan, and sur- 
mounted with an enormous gilded statue of 
the Virgin nearly fifty feet in height. 

This great beacon by land and sea, rising 
as it does to a height of considerably over five 
hundred feet, is the point of departure of that 
great deep-sea traffic which goes on so contin- 
ually from the great port of Marseilles. An 
enthusiastic and imaginative Frenchman puts 
it as follows — and it can hardly be improved 



150 



Rambles on the Riviera 



upon: " Adieu! tu gardes jalousement ta coiir 
ronne de reine de la mer." 

Of all the points of sentimental and romantic 
interest at Marseilles and in its neighbourhood, 




the Chateau d'lf will perhaps most strongly 
impress itself upon the mind and memory. 
The Quartier des Catalans and the Chateau 
d'lf are indeed the chief recollections which 
most people have of the city of the Phoceans, 
as well as of the romance of " Monte Cristo." 



With Dumas and Monte Cristo 151 

The descriptions in the first pages of this won- 
derful romance could not be improved upon 
in the idea they convey of what this grim for- 
tress was like in the days when the great 
Napoleon was languishing at Elba. 

Little is changed to-day so far as the general 
outlines are concerned. The little islet lies off 
the harbour's mouth scarce the proverbial 
stone's throw, and visitors come and go and 
poke their heads in and out of the sombre gal- 
leries and dungeons, asking the guardian, 
meanwhile, if they are really those of which 
Dumas wrote. History defines it all with even 
more accuracy than does romance, for one may 
recall that the prison was one time the cage 
of the notorious Marquis de la Valette, the 
'' Man of the Iron Mask," and many others. 

One's mind always turns to Dantes and the 
gentle Abbe Faria, however, and your cicerone 
with great coolness tells you glibly, and with 
perfect conviction, just what apartments they 
occupied. You may take his word, or you may 
not, but it is well to recall that the Abbe Faria 
was no mythical character, though he never 
was an occupant of the island prison in which 
Dumas placed him. 

The real Abbe Faria was a metaphysicist and 
a hypnotist of the first rank in his day, and 



152 Rambles on the Riviera 

one feels that there is more than a suggestion 
of this — or of some somnambulistic foresight 
or prophecy — in the last speech which Dumas 
gives him when addressing Dantes: " Surtout 
n'oubliez pas Monte Cristo, n'oubliez pas le 
tresor! " 

Dumas 's own accounts of the Chateau d'lf 
are indeed wonderful word-pictures, descrip- 
tive and narrative alike. It is romance and 
history combined in that wonderful manner of 
which Dumas alone was the master. The best 
guide, undoubtedly, to Chateau d'lf is to be 
found in Chapters XIV., XV., XVII., and XX. 
of Dumas 's romance, though, truth to tell, the 
action of his plot was mostly imaginative and 
his scenario more or less artificial. 

As it rounded the Chateau d'lf, a pilot 
boarded Dantes 's vessel, the Pharaon, between 
Cap Morgion and the He de Riou. " Immedi- 
ately, the platform of Fort St. Jean was cov- 
ered with onlookers, for it always was an event 
at Marseilles for a ship to come into port." 

To-day the whole topography of the romance, 
so far as it refers to Marseilles, is all spread 
out for the enthusiast in brilliant relief; all 
as if one were himself a participant in the joy- 
ousness of the home-coming of the good ship 
Pharaon. 



With Dumas and Monte Cristo 153 

The old port from whose basin runs the far- 
famed Cannebiere was the Lacydon of an- 
tiquity, and was during many centuries the 
glory and fortune of the town. To-day the 
old-time traffic has quite forsaken it, but it is 
none the less the most picturesque seaport on 
the Mediterranean. It is to-day, even as it was 
of yore, thronged with all the paraphernalia of 
ships and shipping of the old-school order. It 
is always lively and brilliant, with flags flung 
to the breeze and much cordage, and fishing- 
tackle, and what not belonging to the little sail- 
ing-craft which to-day have appropriated it 
for their own, leaving the great liners and 
their kind to go to the newer basins and docks 
to the westward. 

Virtually the Vieux Port is a museum of the 
old marine, for, except the great white-hulled, 
ocean-going yachts, which seem always to be 
at anchor there, scarce a steam-vessel of any 
sort is to be seen, save, once and again, a fussy 
little towboat. Most of the ships of the Vieux 
Port are those indescribably beautiful craft 
known as navaires a voiles de la Mediterranee, 
which in other words are simply great lateen- 
rigged, piratical-looking craft, which, regard- 
less of the fact that they are evidently best 
suited for the seafaring of these parts, invari- 



154 Rambles on the Riviera 

ably give the stranger the idea that they are 
something of an exotic nature which has come 
down to us through the makers of school his- 
tories. They are as strange-looking to-day as 
would be the caravels of Columbus or the vi- 
king ships of the Northmen. 

All the Mediterranean types of sailing craft 
are found here, and their very nomenclature is 
picturesque — bricks, goelettes, halancelles, tar- 
tanes and barques de pecJie of a variety too 
great for them all to have names. For the most 
part they all retain the slim, sharp prow, fre- 
quently ornamented with the conventional fig- 
urehead of the old days, a bust, or a three- 
quarters or full-length female figure, or per- 
haps a guirlande doree. 

One's impression of Marseilles, when he is 
on the eve of departure, will be as varied as 
the temperament of individuals ; but one thing 
is certain — its like is to be found nowhere else 
in the known and travelled world. Port Said 
is quite as cosmopolitan, but it is not grand 
or even picturesque; New York is as much of 
a mixture of nationalities and '' colonies," from 
those of the Syrians and Greeks on the lower 
East Side to those of the Hungarians, Poles, 
and Slavs on the West, but they have not yet 
become firmly enough established to have be- 



Wit h Dumas and Monte Cristo 155 

come picturesque, — they are simply squalid 
and dirty, and no one has ever yet expressed 
the opinion that the waterside life of New 
York's wharves and locks has anything of the 
colour and life of the Mediterranean about it; 
Paris is gay, brilliant, and withal cosmopolitan, 
but there is a conventionality about it that does 
not exist in the great port of Marseilles, where 
each reviving and declining day brings a whole 
new arrangement of the mirror of life. 

Marseilles is, indeed, " la plus florissante et 
la plus magnifique des villes latines." 



CHAPTER X. 

AIX - EN - PKOVENCE AND ABOUT THERE 

Much sentimental and historic interest cen- 
tres around the world-famed ancient capital of 
Aix-en-Provence. 

To-day its position, if subordinate to that 
of Marseilles in commercial matters, is still 
omnipotent, so far as concerns the affairs of 
society and state. To-day it is the chef-lieu of 
the Arrondissement of the same name in the 
Departement des Bouches du Rhone; the seat 
of an archbishopric ; of the Cour d'Appel; and 
of the Academic, with its faculties of law and 
letters. 

Aix-en-Provence, Aix-la-Chapelle, and Aix- 
les-Bains are all confused in the minds of the 
readers of the Anglo-Parisian newspapers. 
There is little reason for this, but it is so. Aix- 
la-Chapelle is the shrine of Charlemagne ; Aix- 
les-Bains, of the god of baccarat — and in a 
later day bridge and automobile-boat races; 
but Aix-en-Provence is still prominent as the 

156 



Aix-en- Provence and About There 157 

brilliant capital of the beauty-loving court of 
the middle ages. The remains of this past 
existence are still numerous, and assuredly they 
appeal most profoundly to all who have ever 
once come within their spell, from that wonder- 
fully ornate portal of the iSglise de St. Sauveur 
to King Rene's '^ Book of Hours " in the Bib- 
liotheque Mejanes. 

Three times has Aix changed its location. 
The ancient ville gauloise, whose name appears 
to be lost in the darkness of the ages, was some 
three kilometres to the north, and the ville 
romaine of Aquae-Sextiae was some distance to 
the westward of the present city of Aix-en- 
Provence. 

The part played in history by Aix-en-Pro- 
vence was great and important, not only as 
regards its own career, but because of the aid 
which it gave to other cities of Provence. For 
the assistance which she gave Marseilles, when 
that city was besieged by the Spanish, Aix 
was given the right to bear upon her blazoned 
shield the arms of the Counts of Anjou (the 
quarterings of Anjou, Sicily, and Jerusalem). 
This accounts for the complex and familiar 
emblems seen to-day on the city arms. 

Rene d'Anjou was much revered in Aix, in 
which town he made his residence. It was but 



158 Eambles on the Riviera 

natural that the city should in a later day hon- 
our him with a statue bearing the inscription, 
'' Au bon roi Rene, dont la memoir e sera tou- 
jours chere aux Provengaux." 

There were times when sadness befell Aix, 
but on the whole its career was one of glad- 
some pleasure. To Rene, poet of imagination 
as well as king, was due the founding of the 
celebrated Fete-Dieu. In one form or another 
it was intermittently continued up to the mid- 
dle of the nineteenth century. Originally it 
was a curious bizarre affair, with angels, apos- 
tles, disciples, and the whole list of Biblical 
characters personated by the citizens. The 
'' Fete de la Reine de Saba," the '' Danse des 
Olivettes," and the '' Danse des :fipees " were 
other processional fetes which contributed not 
a little to the gay life here in the middle ages 
and account for the survival to-day of many 
local customs. 

Nostradamus, the prophet of Salon, gives the 
following flattering picture of '' Le Prince 
d 'Amour," the title given to the head of the 
mediaeval Courts of Love which nowhere flour- 
ished so gorgeously as here: 

'' He marched always at the head of the 
parade, alone and richly clad. Behind were 
his lieutenants, his nobles, his standard-bear- 



Aix-en- Provence and About There 159 

ers, and a great escort of horsemen, all cos- 
tumed at his expense." 

It was Louis XIV. who decided to suppress 
the function, and a royal declaration to that 
effect was made on the 16th June, 1668. 

Aix met the decree by deciding that the 
*' Prince d 'Amour " should be replaced by a 
*' Lieutenant," to whom should be allowed an 
annual pension of eight hundred livres. Ap- 
parently this was none too much, as one of 
the aspirants for the honour expended some- 
thing like two thousand livres during his one 
year in office. 

The costume officially prescribed for a 
*' Lieutenant " or a '* Prince d 'Amour " was 
as follows: 

'^ A corselet and breeches ^ a la romaine/ 
of white moire with silver trimmings, a mantle 
trimmed with silver, black silk stockings, low 
shoes tied with ribbons, and a plumed hat, to- 
gether with ' knee-ribbons,' a sword-knot and 
a bouquet, also with streamers of ribbon." 

All this bespeaks a certain gorgeousness 
which was only accomplished at considerable 
personal expense on the part of him on whom 
the honour fell. 

In one form or another this sort of thing 
went on at Aix until Revolutionary times, when 



160 Rambles on the Riviera 

the pageant was abolished as smacking too 
much of royal procedure and too little of re- 
publicanism. 

Avignon and Aries are intimately associated 
with the modern exponents of Provengal litera- 
ture, but Aix will ever stand as the home of 
Provengal letters of a past time, Aix the nurs- 
ery of the ancient troubadours. 

As a touring-ground little exploited as yet, 
the region for fifty kilometres around Aix-en- 
Provence offers so much of novelty and charm 
that it may not be likened to any other region 
in France. 

Off to the southwest is Les Pennes, one of 
those picturesque cliff-towns, scattered here 
and there about Europe, which makes the artist 
murmur : " I must have that in my portfolio, ' ' 
— as if one could really capture its scintillating 
beauty and grandeur. 

Les Pennes will be difficult to find unless one 
makes a halt at Aix, Marseilles, or Martigues, 
for it appears not to be known, even by name, 
outside of its own intimate radius. 

It shall not further be eulogized here, for 
fear it may become '' spoiled," though there 
is absolutely no attraction, within or without 
its walls, for the traveller who wants the ca- 





Les Pennes 



Aix-en-Provence and About There 161 

pricious delights of Monte Carlo or the amuse- 
ments of a city like Aix or Marseilles. 

On the ' ' Route Nationale ' ' between Aix and 
Marseilles is the little town of Gardanne, only- 
interesting because it is a typical small town 
of Provence. It has for its chief industries the 
manufacture of aluminium and nougat, widely 
dissimilar though they be. 

Just to the southward rises majestically the 
mountain chain of the Pilon du Roi, whose peak 
climbs skyward for 710 metres, overshadowing 
the towns of Simiane, with its remains of a 
Romanesque chapel and a thirteenth-century 
donjon, and Septemes, with the ruins of its 
Louis XIV. fortifications, and Notre Dame des 
Anges, which was erected upon the remains of 
the ancient chapel of an old-time monastery. 

From the platform of Notre Dame des Anges 
is to be had a remarkable view of the foot-hills, 
of the coast-line, and of the sea beyond, the 
whole landscape dotted here and there with 
yellow-gray hamlets and olive-trees, and little 
trickling streams. It suggests nothing so much 
as the artificial spectacular compositions which 
most artists paint when they attempt to depict 
these wide-open views, and which it is the fash- 
ion to condemn as not being true to nature. 
This may sometimes be the case ; but often they 



162 Rambles on the Riviera 

are as true a map of the country as the average 
topographical survey, and far more true than 
the best " bird's-eye " photograph that was 
ever taken. 

The Pilon du Eoi, so named from its resem- 
blance to a great ruined or unfinished tower, 
rises two hundred or more metres above the 
platform of the church, and to climb its pre- 
cipitous sides will prove an adventure as thrill- 
ing as the most foolhardy Alpinist could desire. 

There is a little corner of this region, lying 
between Marseilles and Gardanne, which, in 
spite of the overhead brilliancy, will remind 
one of the grimness and austerity of Flanders, 
One comes brusquely upon a lusty and grow- 
ing coal-mining industry as he descends the 
southern slope of the Chaine du Pilon du Roi, 
and, while all around are umbrella-pines, olive- 
trees, cypress, and all the characteristics of a 
southern landscape, there are occasional 
glimpses of tall, belching chimneys and the 
sound of the trolleys carrying the coal down 
to a lower level. Here and there, too, one finds 
a black mountain of debris, sooty and grimy, 
against a background of the purest tints of 
the artist's palette. The contrast is too horri- 
ble for even contemplation, in spite of the im- 
portance of the industry to the metropolis of 



Aix-en-Provence and About There 163 

Marseilles and the neighbouring Provencal 
cities. 

At Auriol is another ^^ exploitation houil- 
lere/' which is the French way of describing a 
coal-mine. To the tourist and lover of the 
beautiful this is a small thing. He will be more 
interested in the vineyards and olive orchards 
and the flower-gardens surrounding the little 
townlet, which here bloom with a luxuriance 
at which one can but marvel. The town is a 
'' ville industrielle," if there ever was one, 
since all of its inhabitants seem to be engaged 
in, or connected with, the coal-mining industry 
in one way or another. In spite of this, how- 
ever, the real old-time flavour has been well 
preserved in the narrow streets, the sixteenth- 
century belfry, and the ruins of the old cha- 
teau, which still rise proudly above the little 
red-roofed houses of Auriol 's twenty-five hun- 
dred inhabitants. To-day there is no more 
fear of a Saracen invasion, — as there was 
when the chateau was built, — but there is the 
ever present danger that some yawning pit's 
mouth will be opened beneath its walls, and 
that the old donjon tower will fall before the 
invasion of progress, as has been the fate of 
so many other great historic monuments else- 
where. 



164 Rambles on the Riviera 

In the little vineyard country there are to be 
heard innumerable proverbs all connected with 
the soil, although, like the proverbs of Spain, 
they are applicable to any condition of life, as 
for instance: '^ Buy your house already fin- 
ished and your vines planted," or " Have few 
vines, but cultivate them well." 

There is a crop which is gathered in Provence 
which is not generally known or recognized by 
outsiders, that of the caper, which, like the 
champignon and the truffle, is to the '' cuisine 
frangaise " what paprika is to Hungarian cook- 
ing. 

Without doubt, like many other good things 
of the table in the south of France, the caper 
was an importation from the Levant. It is 
a curious plant growing up beside a wall, or 
in the crevice of a rocky soil, and giving a 
bountiful harvest. In the early days of May 
the " boutons " appear, and the smaller they 
are when they are gathered, — so long as they 
are not microscopic, — the better, and the bet- 
ter price they bring. They must be put up 
in bottles or tins as soon as picked or they can- 
not be made use of, so rapidly do they deteri- 
orate after they have been gathered. 

The crop is gathered by women at the rate 
of five sous a kilo, which, considering that they 



Aix-en- Provence and About There 165 

can gather twenty or more kilos a day, is not 
at all bad pay for what must be a very pleasant 
occupation. The buyer — he who prepares the 
capers for market — pays seventy-five centimes 
a kilo, and after passing through his hands, 
by a process which merely adds a little vinegar 
(though it has all to be most carefully done), 
the price has doubled or perhaps trebled. 

Like the olive and the caper, the apricot is 
a great source of revenue in the Var, partic- 
ularly in the neighbourhood of Eoquevaire, 
midway between Aix and Marseilles. Slopes 
and plains and valley bottoms are all given 
over, apparently indiscriminately, to the cul- 
ture. Near by are great factories which slice 
the fruit, dry it, or make it into preserves. 
Formerly the growers sold direct to the fac- 
tories ; but now, having formed a sort of mid- 
dleman's association, they have united their 
forces with the idea of commanding better 
prices. This is a procedure greatly in favour 
with many of the agricultural industries of 
France. The growers of plmns in Touraine do 
the same thing; so do the growers of cider- 
apples in Normandy ; the vineyard proprietors 
of the Cognac region, and the cheese-makers 
of Brie and Grournay ; and the plan works well 
and for the advantage of all concerned. 



166 



Rambles on the Riviera 




V^^ ; '5»t> 



Roquevaire 



Aix-en-Provence and About There 167 

The apricots of the Var, in their natural 
state, formerly brought but five or six centimes 
a kilo, but by the new order of things the price 
has been raised to ten. 

In the season as many as five hundred thou- 
sand kilos of apricots are peeled and stoned 
in a day by one establishment alone, employing 
perhaps two hundred women and young girls. 
From this twenty-five thousand kilos of stones 
or noyaux result, which, in turn, are sold to 
make orgeat and pate d'amande, — which fact 
may be a surprise to many ; it was to the writer. 

Forty to forty-five centimes a kilo is the price 
the fruit brings when it is turned over to the 
canning establishment, where the process does 
not differ greatly from that in similar trades 
in America or Australia, though the ^^ abricots 
conserves " of Eoquevaire-en-Provence lead 
the world for excellence. 

Eoquevaire's next-door neighbour is Au- 
bagne, in the valley of the Huveaune. It might 
well be called a suburb and dependency of the 
metropolis of Marseilles, except that the little 
town claims an antiquity equal to that of Mar- 
seilles itself. To-day, lying in the fertile plain 
of Baudinard, and surrounded by innumerable 
plantations devoted to the growing of fruits, 
principally strawberries, it is noted chiefly as 



168 Rambles on the Riviera 

the place from which Marseilles draws its prin- 
cipal supplies of early garden fruits or pri- 
meurs, which is a French word with which for- 
eigners should familiarize themselves. It is 
believed that Aubagne was the Albania of 
mediaeval times, and it was so named on the 
chart of Provence made in the tenth century 
by Boson, Comte de Provence, by whom it was 
united with the Vicomte de Marseilles, and its 
civil and religious rights vested in the monks 
of the Abbey of St. Victor. 

There is nothing of dulness here, and, while 
in no sense a manufacturing town, such as Gar- 
danne, there are innumerable petty industries 
which have grown up from the agricultural 
occupations, such as the putting up of con- 
fitures, the distilling of those sweet, syrupy 
concoctions which the French of all parts, be 
they on the boulevards at Paris or at sea on 
board a Messageries liner, drink continually, 
no variety more than the grenadine, which is 
produced at its best here. 

The little river Huveaune flows southwest 
till it drops down to the sea through the hills 
forming the immediate background of Mar- 
seilles, and gives to the aspect of nature what 
artists absolutely refuse to call by any other 
name than character. 



Aix-en-Provence and About There 169 

On the horizon one sees a great cross, planted 
on the summit of a height known as the Garde- 
laban. Beneath it is a great hole burrowed 
into the rock and anciently supposed to be of 
some religious significance, just what no one 
seems to know or care. 

A few generations ago gold was supposed to 
be buried there; but, as no gold was found, 
this was one of the superstitions which soon 
died out. The new Eldorado was not to be 
found there, though a self-styled expert once 
gave the opinion (in print, and solicited sub- 
scriptions on the strength of the claim) that 
the ground was full of " des amas de fer hy- 
drate^ contenant des pyrites au reftet dore," 
The claim proved false and so it was dropped. 

Eunning northeasterly from Marseilles, at 
some little distance from the city, but near 
enough to be in full view from the height of 
Notre Dame de la Garde, is the mass of the 
Saint Pilon range, with Sainte Baume, a little 
to the southward, rising skyward 999 metres, 
which height makes it quite a mountain when 
it is considered that it rises abruptly almost 
from the sea-level. 

The Foret de Sainte Baume is one of those 
unspoiled wildwoods scattered about France 
which do much to make travel by road inter- 



170 Rambles on the Riviera 

esting and varied. To be sure Sainte Baume is 
on the road to nowhere ; but it makes a pleasant 
excursion to go by train from Marseilles to 
Auriol, and thence by carriage to St. Zacharie 
and Sainte Baume. It will prove one of the 
most delightful trips in a delightful itinerary, 
and furthermore has the advantage of not being 
overrun with tourists. 

St. Zacharie, like many other of the tiny hill 
towns of Provence, looks like a bit of trans- 
planted Italy. The village is small, almost to 
minute proportions, but it has a pottery indus- 
try which is renowned for the beauty of its 
wares. There is also a church which was built 
in the tenth century, and moreover there is a 
most excellent hotel, the Lion d'Or. The sur- 
rounding hills are either thickly wooded or 
absolutely bare, and accordingly the scenic 
contrast is most remarkable, from the point 
of view of the lover of the unconventionally 
picturesque. 

As for the Foret de Sainte Baume itself, it 
is thickly grown with great oaks, poplars, asp- 
ens, lichen-grown beeches, sycamores, cy- 
presses, pines, and all the characteristic under- 
growth of a virgin forest, which this virtually 
is, for no forest tract in France has been less 
spoiled or better cared for. In addition nearly 




Convent Garden, St. Zacharie 



Aix-en- Provence and About There 171 

all the medicinal plants of the pharmacopoeia 
are also found, and such exotics as mistletoe 
and orchids as would delight the heart of a 
botanist jaded with the commonplaces of a 
northern forest. 

At the entrance to the wood is the Hotellerie 
de la Sainte Baume, served by monks and nuns, 
who will cater for visitors in a most satisfac- 
tory manner — the women on one side and men 
on the other — and give them veritable mon- 
astic fare, a little preserved fish, an omelette, 
rice, perhaps, cooked in olive-oil, and a full- 
bodied red or white wine ad lib., and all for 
a ridiculously small sum. 

The grotto of Sainte Baume, well within the 
forest, was, according to tradition, the resting- 
place for thirty-three years of Mary Magdalen, 
and accordingly it has become a place of pil- 
grimage for the faithful at Pentecost, la Fete 
Dieu, and the Fete de Ste. Madeleine (22d 
July). The grotto (from which the name comes, 
baume being the Provengal for baoumo, mean- 
ing grotto) has a length of some twenty metres 
and a width of twenty-five with a height of 
perhaps six or seven. 

It is a damp, dark sort of a cave, with water 
always trickling from the roof, though a cistern 
on the floor never seems to run over. The fall- 



172 Rambles on the Riviera 

ing drops make an uncanny sound, if one wan- 
ders about by himself, and he marvels at the 
fact that it has become a religious shrine so 
famous as to have been visited by Louis and 
Marguerite de Provence, Louise de Savoie, 
Claude de France, Marguerite, Duchesse 
d'Alen§on, and a whole galaxy of royal per- 
sonages, including Louis XIV., and Gaston 
d 'Orleans. 

On the Monday of Pentecost all Provence, 
it would seem, comes to make its devotions at 
this shrine of Mary Magdalen, — men, women, 
and children, and above all the young couples 
of the year, this pilgrimage being frequently 
stipulated in the Provengal marriage con- 
tract. 

Above the grotto, on a rocky peak, are the 
remains of a convent founded by Charles II., 
Comte de Provence. The view from its plat- 
form is one of dazzling beauty. Off to the 
southwest lies Marseilles, with the great golden 
statue of Notre Dame de la Garde well defined 
against the blue of the sea ; the :£tang de Berre 
scintillates directly to the westward, like a 
great fiery opal, and still farther off are the 
mountains of Languedoc. 

For many reasons the journey to Sainte 



Rambles on the Riviera 173 

Baume should be made by all visitors to Aix or 
Marseilles who have the time, and inclination, 
to know something of the countryside as well as 
of the towns. 



PART II. 

THE REAL RIVIERA 



CHAPTER I. 



MARSEILLES TO TOULON 



The coast just east of Marseilles is quite 
unknown to the general Riviera traveller, al- 
though it is accessible, varied, and an admira- 
ble foretaste of the beauties of the Riviera 
itself. 

Just over the great bald-faced peak of Mount 
Carpiagne lie Cassis and the Bee de 1 'Aigle, the 
virtual beginning of the wonderful scenic pano- 
rama of the Riviera. 

One would have expected that as time went 
on Carsicus Portus of the Romans, the present 
Cassis, would have exceeded Marseilles in mag- 
nitude, for its situation was much in its favour. 
Great treasure-laden ships from the Orient 
would have avoided doubling the rocky promon- 
tory which stretches seaward between Mar- 
seilles and Cassis, and thereby saved the worry 
of many ever-present dangers. This was not 
to be, however, and Marseilles has grown at 
the expense of its better situated rival. Cassis, 

177 



178 Rambles on the Riviera 

however, was a port of refuge to ships coming 
from the East, and on more than one occasion 
they put in here and landed their cargoes, 
which were sent overland to the already firmly 
established trading colony at Marseilles. 

The origin of the name is doubtful. It seems 
plausible enough that it may have come from 
the old Provengal classis, a filet or net, from 
the use of this in the fishing which was carried 
on here extensively in times past. 

Some supposedly ancient quays, which may 
have dated from Eoman times, were discov- 
ered in the eighteenth century, but the present 
port and its quays were constructed under the 
orders of Louis XIII. 

The present fishing industry of Cassis is not 
very considerable, it being far less than that 
of Martigues or Port de Bouc. At Cassis there 
are but half a hundred men engaged, and the 
returns, as given in a recent year, were scarcely 
over eleven hundred francs per capita, which 
is not a great wage for a toiler of the sea. 

Another harvest of the sea, little practised 
to-day, but formerly much more remunerative, 
is the gathering of a variety of coral which 
quite equals that of Italy or Dalmatia. This 
industry has of late grown less and less impor- 
tant here, as elsewhere, for the Italians, Greeks, 



Marseilles to Toulon 179 

and Maltese have so scraped over the bottom 
of the Mediterranean with their great hooked 
tridents that but httle coral is now found. 

Cassis figures in a story connected with the 
great plague or pest which befell Marseilles 
in the eighteenth century. Pope Clement XI. 
had sent to the Monseigneur de Belsunce a 
cargo of wheat to be distributed among the 
famished of Marseilles or elsewhere, " comme 
il le jug er ait a propos." In December, 1720, 
a fleet of tartanes, — the same lateen-rigged 
ships which one sees engaged to-day in the 
open-sea fishing industry of Martigues, — 
bringing the wheat to the stricken city, was 
forced to anchor in the Golfe des Leques, just 
offshore from the little port of Cassis, '' par 
suite de la violente mistral qui halayait la 
mer." The same mistral sweeps the seas 
around Marseilles to-day, and works all sorts 
of disaster to small craft if they do not take 
shelter. 

When the tartanes were discovered off Cas- 
sis, the famishing sailor-folk of the town hesi- 
tated not a moment to put off and board them. 
The papal tartane attempted to parley with 
them, but every vessel in the fleet was attacked 
in true Barbary-pirate fashion and captured; 
and the entire consignment was seized and dis- 



180 Rambles on the Riviera 

tributed among the distressed people of Cassis 
and the surrounding country. The '' pirates," 
however, paid the Archbishop of Marseilles the 
full value of the shipment, '' comme c'etait 
justice." Mgr. de Belsunce, " coming to Cas- 
sis on donkeyback," brought back the money 
and founded a school for both sexes with the 
capital, besides giving to the poor of the town 
an annual sum equal to the interest on the prin- 
cipal. Whether this was a case of " heaping 
coals of fire " on the delinquent heads, or not, 
history does not say. 

Cassis is the native city of the Abbe Bar- 
thelemy, a savant who, amid the constant study 
of ancient and modern Greek, Latin, Hebrew, 
Syriac, Chaldean, and Arabic, found time to 
write the *' Voyage du Jeune Anacharsis en 
Grece," a work which has placed his name high 
in the roll of writers who have produced epoch- 
making literature. 

Cassis is the perfect type of the small Medi- 
terranean port. High above the houses of its 
nineteen hundred inhabitants, on the apex of 
a wooded, red-rock hill, are the ruins of a cha- 
teau. To the east is the grim and gray Cap, 
a mountain of considerable pretensions, while 
to the west is Pointe Pin, a height of perhaps 
fifteen hundred metres sloping gently down to 




'C^^^^^^slfX^ 



... ^/^-^ 






cj 



Marseilles to Toulon 181 

the sea, and covered with scrub-pines save for 
occasional granite outcrops. 

Cassis is a highly industrious little town, 
now mostly given over to the manufacture of 
cement, the coastwise shipping of which gives 
a perpetual liveliness to the port. The fishing, 
too, though, as before said, not very consid- 
erable, results in a constant traffic with the 
wharves of Marseilles, where the product is 
sold. 

The white wine of Cassis, a " vrai vin par- 
fume," which in another day was produced 
much more extensively than now, is as much 
the proper thing to drink with bouillabaisse 
and les coquillages as in the north are Chablis 
and Graves with oysters and lobsters. 

The vin de Cassis is like the wine of which 
Keats wrote: 

" So fine that it fills one's mquth with gush- 
ing freshness, — that goes down cool and fever- 
less, -and does not quarrel with your liver, ly- 
ing as quiet as it did in the grape." 

The sheltering headland which rises high 
above Cassis is known as Le Gibel. On its 
highest peak the poet Mistral has placed the 
retreat of the heroine Esteulle in his poem 
** Calandau." Black and menacing, Cap Ca- 
naille continues Le Gibel out toward the sea, 



182 Rambles on the Riviera 

and its sheer rise above the Mediterranean ap- 
proximates five hundred metres. 

On the opposite bank of a little bay, called 
in Provencal a calanque, rises the ruined tow- 
ers and walls of a feudal chateau, of no inter- 
est except that it forms a grim contrasting note 
with the blue background of sky above and sea 
below. 

A little farther on, sheltered at the head of 
a calanque, is Port Miou, which has a legend 
that has made it a popular place of pilgrimage 
for the Marseillais. The little port is well shel- 
tered in the bay, with the entrance nearly closed 
by a great sentinel rock, which is, at times, 
wholly submerged by the waves. It is this 
which has given rise to the legend that a Gen- 
oese fisherman, surprised by a tempest and 
being unable to control his craft, abandoned 
the tiller and would have hurled himself into 
the sea if his son, obeying a sudden inspiration, 
had not steered the boat through the narrow 
strait and came to a safe harbour within. The 
father at once fell upon the boy, killing him 
with a blow; but. Providence taking no re- 
venge, the boat drifted on to a safe anchorage. 

The story is not a new one ; the same legend, 
with variations, is heard in many parts of 
western Europe and as far north as Norway, 



Marseilles to Toulon 183 

but it is potent enough here to draw crowds 
of Sunday holiday-makers, in the summer 
months, from Marseilles. 

In 1377 Pope Gregory XI., who desired to 
reestablish the papacy at Eome after its sev- 
enty years at Avignon, took ship at Marseilles, 
but was held back by contrary winds and seas 
and hovered about the little archipelago of 
islands at the harbour's mouth, until finally, 
when he had at last got well started on his way, 
a furious tempest arose and the vessel forced 
to anchor in the calanque of Port Miou, called 
by the historian of the voyage Portus Milonis. 

Beyond Cassis, eastward, are still to be 
traced the outlines of the old Eoman road which 
led into Gaul from Rome, via Pisa and Genoa, 
until it finally passes Ceyreste, the ancient 
Citharista. The name was originally given to 
the site because of the chain of hills at the back, 
which formed a sort of a tiara {citharista sig- 
nifying tiara or crown) , of which the little city 
formed the bright particular jewel. It must 
have been one of the first health resorts of 
the Mediterranean shore, for Caesar founded 
here a hospital for sick soldiers. Since that 
day it appears to have been neglected by the 
invalids (real and fancied), for they go to 
Monte Carlo to live the same life of social 



184 Rambles on the Riviera 

diversion that goes on at Paris, Vienna, or 
New York. 

Another explanation of the origin of the 
city's name is that it was dedicated to Apollo, 
the god of music, and that its name came from 
the cithare, or zither, which, according to those 
learned in mythology, the god always bore. 

Ceyreste, at all events, was of Grecian origin 
as to its name, and was perhaps the patrician 
suburb of La Ciotat, the city of sailors and 
merchants. Unlike most plutocratic towns, 
Ceyreste appears always to have had a due 
regard for the proprieties, for a French his- 
torian has written: '^ II est de notoriete pub- 
lique que jamais aucun Ceyresteen n'a subi de 
peine infamante, ni meme afflictive. Jamais 
aucun crime n'a ete commis dans la com- 
mune! " 

Ceyreste must console itself with these mem- 
ories of a glorious past, for to-day it is but a 
minute commune of but a few hundred souls, 
most of whom have attached themselves in their 
daily pursuits to the busy industrial La Ciotat. 

The railway issues from the Tunnel de Cas- 
sis, through olive-groves and great sculptured 
rocks, on the shores of the wonderful Baie de 
la Ciotat, flanked on one side by a rocky prom- 
ontory and on the other, the west, by the Bee 



Marseilles to Toulon 



185 



de I'Aigle, a queer beak-shaped projection 
which well lives up to its name. 

The bay of La Ciotat is the first radiant 
vision which one has of a Mediterranean golfe, 
as he comes from the north or east. Things 
have changed to-day, and the considerable 



s&«s- 




La Ciotat and the Bee de VAigle 

commerce of former times has already shrunk 
to infinitesimal proportions, though to take its 
place the port has become the location of the 
vast ship-building works of the ' ' Cie. des Mes- 
sageries-Maritimes, ' ' whose three or four thou- 
sand workmen have taken away most of the 
local Mediterranean wealth of colour which 
many a less progressive place has in abun- 
dance. Accordingly La Ciotat is no place to 



186 Rambles on the Riviera 

tarry, though unquestionably it is a place to 
visit, if only for the sake of that wonderful 
first impression that one gets of its bay. 

It was a fortunate day for the prosperity 
of La Ciotat when the engineers and directors 
of the great steamship company founded its 
vast workshops here. To be sure they do not 
add much to the romantic aspect of this charm- 
ingly situated coast town; but men must live, 
and great ocean liners must be built somewhere 
near salt water. 

The prosperity of La Ciotat, the ville des 
ouvriers, has grown up mostly from its traffic 
by sea, the railway stopping at an elevation 
of some two hundred feet above the level of 
the quays. The traveller makes his way by 
a little branch train, but heavy merchandise 
for the ship-building yards is still brought first 
to Marseilles and then transhipped by boat. 

Ship-building was one of the ancient occupa- 
tions of the people of La Ciotat, hence it is 
natural enough to hear some old workman, 
who has become incapacitated by time, say: 
" N'est-il pas naturel que La Ciotat soutienne 
son antique reputation en construisant de bons 
bateaux? " 

For a long time it was the grand ship-build- 
ing yard of the Marseillais, who obtained here 



Marseilles to Toulon 187 

all their ships to " faire la caravane," as the 
voyage to the Levant was called in olden times. 

La Ciotat was perhaps the Burgus Civitatis 
of the itinerary of Antony, but in time it came 
to be known — in the Catalan tongue — as 
Bort de Nostre Cieuta, and it is so given in 
an ancient charter which conceded certain 
rights to the Marseillais. 

In 1365 La Ciotat passed to the monks of the 
Abbey of St. Victor, but for a short time it was 
in the possession of the Catalans, who were the 
partisans of the Antipope Pierre de Luna. 
Few towns of its size in all France have had 
so varied a career as La Ciotat, until it finally 
settled down to the more or less prosaic affairs 
of later years. Forty families formed its first 
population, but, in the reign of Frangois L, 
its population was twelve thousand or more, 
a number which has not perceptibly increased 
since. 

During the pest of 1720, which fell so hard 
upon Marseilles, and indeed upon nearly all 
of the ports of maritime Provence, La Ciotat 
was saved from the affection by the observance 
of a stringent quarantine. To a great extent 
this was due to the prudence and fearlessness 
of the women. All entrance to the city was 
rigorously refused to strangers, and, when the 



188 Ramble s on the Riviera 

troops from the garrison at Marseilles were 
sent here that they might be quartered in a 
place of safety, the women armed themselves 
with sticks and stones and formed a barrier, 
dehors des murs, and drove the soldiery otf 
as if they had been an attacking foe. This is 
one of those Amazonian feats which prove the 
valour of the women of other days. 

La Ciotat was frequently attacked by the 
Barbary pirates before these vermin were 
swept from the seas by the intervention of the 
two great republics, France and the United 
States. The English, too, attacked the intrepid 
little town, and there are brave tales of the 
valour of the inhabitants when bombarded by 
the guns of the Seahorse in 1818. 

Directly in front of La Ciotat, at the foot of 
the Cote de Saint Cyr, on the eastern shore 
of the bay, was an old Greek colony known to 
geographers as Tauroentum. Rich and power- 
ful in its own right, Tauroentum rivalled its 
neighbour Marseilles, but the fleets of Pompey 
and Caesar had one of those old-time sea-fights 
off its quays, and the city, having suffered 
greatly at the time, never recovered its pros- 
perity, and the more opulent and powerful Mar- 
seilles became the metropolis for all time. The 
monumental remains to be observed to-day are 



Marseilles to Toulon 189 

mostly covered with the sands of time, and only 
the antiquarian and archaeologist will get pleas- 
ure or satisfaction from any fragmentary evi- 
dences which may be unearthed. The subject 
is a vast and most interesting one, no doubt, 
but the enthusiast in such matters is referred 
to Lentheric's great work on '' La Provence 
Maritime. ' ' 

La Ciotat, with its workmen's houses and 
its shipyard, will not detain one long. One 
will be more interested in making his way east- 
ward along the coast, when every kilometre 
will open up new splendours of landscape. 

Opposite La Ciotat is the hamlet of Les 
Leques, well sheltered in the bay of the same 
name. Lamartine, en route for the Orient, 
compared it with enthusiasm to the Bay of 
Naples, a simile which has been used with re- 
gard to many another similar spot, but hardly 
with as much of appropriateness as here. Said 
Lamartine: " C'est un de ces nombreux chefs- 
d'oeuvre que Dieu a repandus partout." 

From Les Leques it is but a step to Bandol, 
a place not mentioned in the note-books of 
many travellers, though to the French it is 
already recognized as a ''^ station hivernale et 
de bains de mer." This is a pity, for it will 
soon go the way of the other resorts. 



190 Rambles on the Riviera 

Bandol is a small town of the Var, possessed 
of a remarkably beautiful and sheltered site, 
and, since it numbers but a trifle over two 
thousand souls, and has no palace hotels as 
yet, it may well be accounted as one of the 
places on the beaten track of Riviera travel 
which has not yet become wholly spoiled. 

Bandol 's principal business is the growing 
of immortelles and artichokes, with enough of 
the fishing industry to give a liveliness and 
picturesqueness to the wharves of the little 
port. 

It is a wonderfully warm corner of the 
littoral, here in the immediate environs of Ban- 
dol, and palms, banana-trees, the eucalyptus, 
and many other subtropical shrubs and plants 
thrive exceedingly. There is nothing of the 
rigour of winter to blight this warm little cor- 
ner; only the mistral — which is everywhere 
(Monaco perhaps excepted) — or its equally 
wicked brother, le vent d'est, ever makes dis- 
agreeable a visit to this warm-welcoming little 
coast town. 

A clock-tower, or belfry, an old chateau, — 
the construction of Vauban, — and a jetty, 
which throws out its long tentacle-like arm to 
sea, make up the chief architectural monuments 
of the town, 



Marseilles to Toulon 191 

Not so theatrical or stagy as Monte Carlo 
or even Hyeres, or as overrun with '' swal- 
lows " as Nice or Menton, Bandol has much 
that these places lack, and lacks a great deal 
that they have, but which one is glad to be 
without if he wants to hibernate amid new 
and unruffling surroundings. 

Very good wines are made from the grapes 
which grow on the neighbouring hillsides ; rich 
red wines, most of which are sold as Port to 
not too inquisitive buyers. The industry is not 
as flourishing as it once was, though the in- 
habitants — some two hundred or more — who 
used to be engaged in the coopering trade, still 
hope that, phoenix-like, it will rise again to 
prosperity. What the culture once was, and 
what picturesque elements it possessed, art- 
lovers, and others, may judge for themselves 
by the contemplation of the celebrated canvas 
by Joseph Vernet, now in the Louvre at Paris. 

The fishermen of Bandol find the industry 
more profitable than do many others in the 
small towns to the eastward of Marseilles, and, 
accordingly, they are more prominent in the 
daily life which goes on in the markets and on 
the quays. Their catch runs the whole gamut 
of the poissons de Mediterranee, including a 
unique species called the St. Pierre, whose 



192 Eambles on the Riviera 

bones somewhat resemble the instruments of 
the Passion. 

Three thousand cases of immortelles are 
gathered each year from the hillsides and 
shipped to all parts, the crop having a value 
of more than a hundred thousand francs. 

Bandol is the centre of the manufacture of 
couronnes d'immortelles in France. The little 
yellow flowers literally clog the narrow streets 
of the town away from the waterside. The 
warm zone in which Bandol is situated is most 
favourable to the growth of the plant, which, 
according to the botanists, originally came 
from Crete and Malta. The natives of Bandol 
say that it originated with them, or at least 
with their pays. 

A hot, dry soil is necessary to their growth, 
and they are at their best in June and July, 
when their golden yellow tufts literally cover 
the hillsides; that is, all that are not covered 
by narcissi. The flora of Bandol is most varied 
and abundant, but these two flowers predom- 
inate. 

The culture of the immortelle is simple. In 
February or March the plants are set in the 
ground, from small roots, and the gathering 
commences in July of the second season, after 
which the poor, stripped stalks look anything 



Marseilles to Toulon 193 

but immortal. Each plant grows three or four 
score of stems, each stem bearing ten to twenty 
flowers. 

Curiously enough there seems to be a diver- 
sity of opinion as to the colour that a crown 
of immortelles shall take. Not all of them are 
sent out in the golden colour nature gave them. 
Some are dyed purple and others black, and 
then, indeed, all their beauty has departed. 
The natives think so, too, but dealers in funeral 
supplies in Paris, Lyons, and Marseilles — 
who have about the worst artistic sense of any 
class of Frenchmen who ever lived — have got 
the idea that their clients like variety, and 
that bright yellow is too gay for a symbol of 
mourning. 

Bandol sits in a great amphitheatre sur- 
rounded by wooded hillsides set out here and 
there with plantations of olive and mulberry 
trees and vines. 

Harvest loads of grapes and olives form the 
chief characteristics of the traffic by the high- 
ways and byways throughout Provence, but in 
no section are they more brilliant and gay with 
colour than along the coast from Marseilles 
to Hyeres. 

Bandol is thought to have been one of those 
numerous nameless ports referred to by the 



194 Rambles on the Eiviera 

Roman historians, but it is necessary to arrive 
at the end of the sixteenth century to find any 
mention of it by name. Nostradamus recounts 
that a certain Capitaine Boyer of Ollioules, 
who had rendered great service to the king 
during the troubles with the League, was given 
" en fief et a paye-morte, a luy et a sa posterite, 
le fort de Bendort {Bandol), situe au hord de 
la mer." 

Later this same Boyer was appointed gov- 
ernor of the Chateau de la Garde at Marseilles, 
and received, in addition, certain valuable 
rights connected with the tunny fishing on the 
Provencal coasts, which enterprise ultimately 
placed him in a position of great affluence. 

The old chateau of Bandol, built on a bed 
of basalt, has the following pleasant mot con- 
nected with it: 

« Le gouverneur de cette roche, 
Retournant im jour par le coche, 
A, depuis environ quinze ans, 
Emport6 la cl6 dans sa poche," 

Ten kilometres beyond Bandol is Ollioules, 
which is mentioned in the guide-books as being 
the gateway to the celebrated Gorges d 'Olli- 
oules, which, like most gorges and canons, is 
of surprising spectacular beauty. This is a 
classic excursion for the residents of Toulon, 



Marseilles to Toulon 195 

who on Sunday flock to the site of this tortuous 
savage gorge, and breathe in some of those 
same delights which a mountaineer finds in a 
deep-cut canon in the Rockies. There is noth- 
ing so very stupendous about this gorge, but 
it looks well in a photograph, and satisfies the 
Toulonais to their highest expectations, and al- 
together is a very satisfactory sort of a ravine, 
if one does not care for the beauties of the 
coast-line itself, — which is what most of us 
come to the Mediterranean for. 

OUioules itself is of far more attraction, to 
the lover of picturesque old streets and houses 
and crumbling historical monuments, than its 
gorge. The town bears still the true stamp 
of the middle ages, though the inhabitants will 
tell you that it has great hopes of becoming 
some day a popular resort like Nice, this being 
the future to which all the small Eiviera towns 
aspire. 

Old vaulted streets, leaning porched houses, 
with enormous gables and delicately sculptured 
corbels and window-frames, give quite the 
effect of medisevalism to OUioules, though a 
hooting tram from Toulon makes a false note 
which is for ever sounding in one's ears. 

All the same, OUioules, with the debris of its 
thirteenth-century chateau, its very consider^ 



196 Rambles on the Riviera 

able remains of city wall, and its Place, tree- 
shaded by high-growing palms, is a town to be 
loved, by one jaded with the round of resorts, 
for its many and varied old-world attrac- 
tions. 

OUioules is built in the open air, at the end 
of the defile or gorge, in the midst of a coun- 
try glowing with all the splendour and beauty 
of endless beds of hyacinths and narcissi, flow- 
ers which rank among the most beautiful in 
all the world, and which here, in this corner 
of old Provence, grow as luxuriantly as heather 
on the hills of Scotland or tulips in Holland. 
Violets, poppies, the mimosa, and tuberoses 
are also here in abundance. 

Two hundred and fifty hectares, or more, in 
the immediate vicinity of OUioules, are devoted 
to the culture of bulbs, and five million bulbs 
form an average crop, most of which is sent 
away by rail to Belgium, Holland (tell it not 
to a Dutchman), and England. 

The origin of the name of the town is pecul- 
iar, as indeed is the derivation of many place- 
names. Savants think that it comes from ole- 
arium, meaning a place where oil was made 
and stored. This may be so, but olive-oil does 
not figure any more among the products of this 
particular petit pays. 



Marseilles to Toulon 197 

Not only the rock-bound gorge but the whole 
basin of Ollioules is a wonderland of exotic 
and rare natural beauties. On one side, to the 
north, rise the volcanic heights of Evenos, 
crowned to-day with ruins which may be Sara- 
cenic, or gallo-romain, or prehistoric, perhaps, 
— it is impossible to tell. 

George Sand has written with great appre- 
ciation of the whole neighbouring region in 
'' Tamaris," but even her graphic pen has not 
been able to reproduce the charming and dis- 
tinguished characteristics of a region which, 
even to-day, is little or not at all known to the 
great mass of tourists who annually rush to 
the Eiviera resorts from all parts of America 
and Europe. '' Tant pis," then, as Sterne said, 
but the way is here made plain for any who 
would go slowly over this well-worn road of 
history and cast a glance up and down the 
cross-roads as he comes to them. 

The distance is not great from Marseilles to 
Hyeres, but eighty kilometres, a little over fifty 
miles; but there is a wealth of interest to be 
had from a silent threading of the roadways of 
this delightful corner of maritime Provence 
which the partakers of conventional tours know 
nothing of. 

Here in the environs of Ollioules, on the hill- 



198 Rambles on the Riviera 

sides flanking its celebrated gorge, is found in 
profusion the fieur d'or, famed in the verses 
of Proven§al poets. Frangois Delille, one of 
the followers of the Felibres, in his '' Fleur 
de Provence," has sung its praises in unap- 
proachable fashion, and there are some other 
fragment verses by a poet whose name has 
been forgotten, which seem worth quoting, since 
they recount an incident which may happen to 
any one who journeys by road along the coast 
of Provence: 

Le Voyageur au Voiturin. 
" Arrete ton cheval, saute a bas, mon vieux faune : 
Et va, bon voiturin, du c6te de la mer ; 
Sur le bord de cette anse oil le Hot est si clair, 
Coupe, dans les rocbers, coupe cette fleur jaune." 

Le Voiturin, 
« Cast une fleur sauvage, O seigneur stranger. 
La-bas nous trouverons des bouquets d'oranger." 

Le Voyageur. 
« Non ! laisse Toranger embaumer le rivage, 
Pour ces parfums si doux je suis barbare encore, 
Mais sur ma terre aussi poussent les landiers d'or 
Et j'aime la senteur de cette fleur sauvage ! " 

Such is the charm of the ajonc, " la fleur 
d'or de Provence." 

Beyond Ollioules is St. Nazaire-du-Var, a 
tiny port which resembles in many ways that 




St. Nazaire-du-Var 



Marseilles to Toulon 199 

of Bandol. It has some of the aspects of a 
station des bains, in the summer months, for 
it has a fine beach. The railways and the guide- 
books apparently have little knowledge of St. 
Nazaire for they call it Sanary, after the old 
Provengal name. The present authorities of 
the really attractive little town are doing their 
best to keep pace with the march of progress, 
and there are hotels, more or less grand, elec- 
tric lights, and tram-cars. 

The little port is exceedingly picturesque, 
and its quays are always animated with the 
comings and goings of a hundred or more fish- 
ing-boats, which of themselves smack nothing 
of modernity. The motor-boat has not yet 
taken the picturesqueness out of the life of 
these hardy fishermen of yore, though it is 
slowly making its way in some parts. 

In reality St. Nazaire-du-Var exists no more. 
The development of St. Nazaire-de-Bretagne 
overshadowed its less opulent namesake and 
took most of the mail-matter addressed to the 
little Provencal port. The inhabitants of the 
latter protested and addressed who ever has 
the making and changing of place-names in 
France to be allowed to adopt its ancient patro- 
nymic of Sanary. 

Some day a ^' Club Prive," and '' Prom- 



200 Rambles on the Riviera 

enades," and '' Places," and " Squares " will 
come, and an effort will be made to stop the 
flood of English and American and German 
tourists, who are appropriating nearly every 
beauty-spot on the Eiviera where there is a 
post-office and a telegraph station. 

Above, on a hill to the eastward, is a chapel 
dedicated to Notre Dame de Pitie, greatly ven- 
erated by the fishermen and sailors of the town, 
but mostly remembered by travellers for the 
very remarkable outlook which is to be had from 
the platform of its great square tower. With 
its rectangular little houses glistening white in 
the sunlight, and red hoofs, and great towering 
palms and eucalyptus, St. Nazaire resembles a 
great flowering bouquet, and when the simile 
is carried further, and the bouquet is tied 
up with a waving ribbon of yellow sand, and 
placed in a broad blue vase of the sea, the pic- 
ture is one which, once seen, will be unforget- 
table. 

Toward the horizon is seen a cone which 
bears the enigmatical name of Six-Fours » 
More majestic is Cap Sicie, which breaks the 
waves of the Mediterranean into myriads of 
flakes, and gives a warning to the ships lying 
in the basins at Marseilles that the sea is rising, 
and that one of those intermittent tempests, 



Marseilles to Toulon 201 

for which the Golfe de Lyon is noted, is due. 
Cap Negre lies farther in, a black basalt wall 
which gives an accent of sombreness to the 
otherwise gay picture. 



CHAPTER II. 

OVEE CAP SICIE 

The great promontory of Cap Sicie is a 
peninsula, five kilometres across the " neck," 
and jutting seaward double that distance. 

Just beyond Sanary, or St. Nazaire-du-Var, 
is the great Bale de Sanary, snuggled close 
under the promontory height and forming a 
welcome shelter from the seas which pile up 
on the coast from Toulon to Marseilles. 

There is a little excursion offshore which 
one should make before he descends on the 
great arsenal of Toulon, on the other side of 
the Cap ; but unless the traveller is forewarned 
he is likely to overlook it altogether, and 
thereby miss what to many will be a new form 
of human happiness. 

Travellers to Naples make the trip to Ischia, 
if they are not afraid of earthquakes; or to 
Capri, if they like the damp of the grottoes; 
but travellers en route to Toulon may make 
the short trip to the lies des Embiez, from the 

202 



Over Cap Sicie 203 

little haven of Le Brusc, and have something 
of the suggestion of both the former popular 
tourist points, — with an utter absence of tour- 
ists. 

Embiez is not much of an island in point 
of size, and the map-makers scarcely know it 
at all. One makes his way from Le Brusc, 
through an expanse of calm and limpid water, 
on a flat-bottomed sort of craft which looks 
as though it might have degenerated from a 
punt. 

The way is not long ; it is astonishingly short 
for a sea voyage, and it is only with a previous 
knowledge of the shallows — or, rather, the 
deeps — that the craft can find its way across 
the scarcely hidden banks of yellow sand. Fif- 
teen minutes of this voyaging brings one to 
the isle, and from its little jetty a douanier 
accosts your boat to know if you have anything 
dutiable on board, as well as for your ship's 
papers, and a doctor's certificate. He need 
have no fears, however, for no one would ever 
take the trouble to smuggle anything into Em- 
biez. *' Nothing doing," and the douanier re- 
turns to his fishing off the jetty's end. 

The isle is a rock-surrounded mamelon which 
rises to a height of some sixty or seventy 
metres, and is as wild and savage and romantic 



204 Rambles on the Riviera 

as the most imaginative sketch ever outlined 
by Dore. 

There is a fringe of small white houses, the 
dwellings of the workers in the salt-works of 
the isle, and of that lonesome douanier, while 
above, on an elevated plateau, is the Chateau 
de Sabran, which draws its name from one of 
the illustrious and ancient families of Provence. 

It is all very picturesque, but there is noth- 
ing very archaic about the chateau, with the 
exception of one old tower. There are numer- 
ous evidences which point to the fact that 
some kind of fortifications were erected here 
in early times; the douanier is divided in his 
opinion as to whether they were the work of 
Saracens or Barbary pirates, and the reader 
may take his choice. At any rate, there is an 
unspoiled setting right here at hand for any 
writer who would like to try to turn out as 
good a tale as '' Treasure Island " or ^' Monte 
Cristo." 

Returning to the mainland, and following the 
highroad as it goes eastward to Toulon, one 
comes upon the curiously named little town of 
Six-Fours, situated on the very apex of the 
heights. 

The very name of Six-Fours is enigmatic. 
It is certain that it was a mountain fortress 



Over Cap Sicie 205 

in days gone by ; and from that — and the 
intimation that there was once six forts or 
six towers here — one infers that its name was 
evolved from Six-Forts, which name was writ- 
ten in Latin Sex Furni and finally Six Fours. 
Another opinion — French antiquarians, like 
their brethren the world over, are prolific in 
opinions — is that the bizarre name was that 
of one of the lieutenants of Csesar engaged in 
the blockade of Marseilles. One named Sextus 
Furnus, or Sextus Furnis, did occupy a moun- 
tain stronghold in that campaign, and it may 
have been the site where the village of Six- 
Fours now stands. 

Six-Fours, so curiously named, and so little 
known outside its immediate neighbourhood, 
has many strange manners and customs. The 
genuine Six-Fourneens are six feet or more 
in height, and will not — or would not for a 
long time — marry any Stranger, by which term 
they designate all outsiders. 

Their speech and accent, too, are different 
from other Provengaux, and they have been 
called wild, savage, and ridiculous. This is 
mostly a libel, or else they have now outgrown 
these undesirable characteristics. 

There is a Christmas custom at Six-Fours 
which is worth noting: a bon feu (which easily 



206 Rambles on the Riviera 

enough shows the evolution of the English word 
bonfire) is lighted in the street on Christmas 
eve before the dwelling of the oldest inhab- 
itant (the oldest inhabitant of last year's cele- 
bration may or may not have died, so there 
is always the element of chance to give zest), 
followed by a collation paid for by public sub- 
scription. As this repast comes off, also, in 
the street, the effect is weirdly amusing. The 
children partake, too (which is right and 
proper), and '' par permission speciale " all 
are allowed to eat with their fingers, as there 
are seldom enough knives and forks to go 
round. 

From the plateau height on which sits this 
decayed village a most expansive view is to 
be had. Before one is the promontory of Cap 
Sicie plunging abruptly beneath the Mediter- 
ranean waves. About and around are rose- 
bushes, gripping tenaciously the rocky crevices 
of the hills, here and there as thickly inter- 
woven as chain mail, while in the valleys are 
occasional little cleared orchards where the 
olive-trees are ranged in rows like soldiers, 
though in the tree kingdom of the southland 
the olive is the dwarf, and, moreover, lacks the 
brilliant colouring of the fig or almond which 
mostly form its neighbours. 



Over Cap Side 207 

Off to the left are the roof-tops of La Seyne, 
and the smoky stacks of its shipyards and fac- 
tories, while still farther to the southeast is 
the combination of the grime of Toulon with 
that luminous sky of iridescent Mediterranean 
blue. It is ravishing, all this, though perhaps 
not more so than similar panoramas elsewhere 
along the Eiviera. On the whole, their like is 
not to be found elsewhere in the travelled 
world, at least not with such abundant con- 
tributory charms. ♦ 

Six-Fours itself raises its ruins high in air, 
miserable, and silent, almost, as the grave, a 
mere wraith of a once lively and ambitious set- 
tlement. The decadence of man is a sad thing, 
but that of cities quite as sad, and to-day this 
ancient domain of the seigneur-abhes of St. 
Victor de Marseilles is as impressive an ex- 
ample as one will find. 

As one proceeds eastward he opens another 
vista quite unlike any other view to be had 
in all the world. The great Eade de Toulon, 
its batteries and forts, its suburbs, and its 
environs, all form an impressive ensemble of 
the work of nature and man. 

The highroad continues on toward La Seyne, 
the great ship-building suburb, and another 
leads to Les Sablettes and Tamaris, directly 



208 Rambles on the Riviera 

on the water's edge, and far enough removed 
from the smoke and industry of the great ar- 
senal to belong to the real countryside. 

The Eade de Toulon is one of the joys of the 
Mediterranean. Its splendid banks are cut into 
graceful curves, and the background of hills 
and mountains makes a joyful picture indeed, 
whether viewed from land or sea. The charming 
little bays of its outline are quite in harmony 
with the brilliant blue of the sky, and not even 
the smoke-pouring chimneys of the shipyards 
at La Seyne sound a false note, but rather they 
accent the natural beauties to a still higher 
degree. 

Away beyond the Grande Rade are the 
ragged isles of the archipelago of Hyeres, 
wave-battered and gleaming in the sunlight, 
while around the whole nebulous horizon are 
effects of brilliant colouring of land and sea 
hardly to be equalled, certainly not to be ex- 
celled. Wooded peninsulas come down and jut 
out into the sea, and, despite the air of activ- 
ity which is over the whole neighbourhood, 
there is an idyllic charm about the remote 
suburbs which is indescribable. 

Guarded seaward by grim forts, and admi- 
rably sheltered from the mistral, which blows 
over its head and out to sea, is Tamaris, whose 




Fishing-boats at Tamaris 



Over Cap Sicie 209 

fame first started from a four months' resi- 
dence here of George Sand. Like Alphonse 
Karr and Dumas, the elder, George Sand, if 
not the discoverer of a new and unpatronized 
pied de terre, gave the first impetus to Tamaris 
as a resort of not too alluring attractions, and 
yet all-sufficient to one who wanted to enjoy 
the quietness and beauties of nature to a super- 
lative degree, all within a half -hour's journey 
of a great city. So pleased was the great 
woman of French letters that she laid the scene 
of one of her last and most celebrated romances 
here. All the delicate plants of a latitude five 
hundred miles farther south here find a foot- 
hold, and flourish as soon as they have become 
acclimated and taken root. Hence it has be- 
come a ' ' garden-spot, ' ' in truth, and one which 
is too often neglected by Riviera tourists in 
general. There is small reason for this, and 
when one realizes that Tamaris is a first-class 
literary shrine as well — for the dwelling (the 
Maison Trucy) inhabited by Madame Sand still 
stands — there is even less. 

The magic ring of Michel Pacha, the inno- 
vator of lighthouses within the waters of the 
Ottoman empire, has served to develop and en- 
rich a little corner of this delightful bit of the 
tropics, and, where the cypress and pine once 



210 Rambles on the Riviera 

grew alone, are now found palm, orange, and 
lemon trees; and hedges and walls of the lau- 
rier-rose line the alleys which lead to the Ori- 
ental-looking chateau of this dignitary of the 
East. The effect is just the least bit garish 
and out of place, but like all groupings of na- 
ture and art on Mediterranean shores, it is un- 
deniably effective, and the domain all in all 
looks not unlike a stage setting for the " Ara- 
bian Nights." 

Just back of Tamaris is, or was, the cele- 
brated *' Batterie des Hommes Sans Peur," 
which so awakened the interest and curiosity 
of George Sand that she implored the authori- 
ties to make a memorial of the spot forthwith, 
and spend less time digging for prehistoric 
remains. 

The construction of the battery was one of 
the first great exploits of the young Napoleon 
(1793), which, with the subsequent taking of 
the Petit-Gribraltar (as the present Fort Napo- 
leon was then known), was one of the real his- 
tory-making events of modern France. 

Madame Sand marvelled that the site of this 
tiny battery had been so neglected. It was 
due to that distinguished lady that the exact 
location of the battery was made known, and, 
though still merely a ruined earthwork, may 



Over Cap Sicie 211 

be reckoned as one of the patriotic souvenirs 
of a lurid page of history. 

George Sand had the idea of buying these 
twenty metres square of ground, surrounding 
them with a paling and making a path thereto 
which should lead from the highway. Ulti- 
mately she intended to plant a simple stone 
with the following inscription: '^ Ici Reposent 
les Hommes Sans Peur." This was never done, 
however, and so those only who have the mem- 
ory of the incident well within their grasp ever 
even come across the site. There is something, 
more than a legendary grandeur about it all, 
and those who are unfamiliar with the incident 
had best refer to any good life of Napoleon, 
and learn what really happened at the famous 
siege of Toulon. 

Toulon is about the best guarded arsenal in 
all the world. The Caps Mouret, Notre Dame 
de la Garde, Sicie, and Sepet play nature's 
part, and play it well, and the hand of man has 
added cannons wherever he could find a rest- 
ing-place for them. '^ Canons! encore ca- 
nons, et tou jours des canons! " said a French 
commercial traveller at the table d'hote, when 
the artist told him that she had been remon- 
strated with when making a sketch on the sum- 
mit of an exceedingly beautiful hillside to the 



212 Rambles on the Riviera 

eastward of the city. This admonition was 
enough. Much better to take good advice than 
to languish in prison till your consul comes 
and gets you out, — which is just what has 
happened to inquisitive artists in France be- 
fore now. 

Toulon is warlike to the very core, and, in 
spite of an active historic past, there is scarcely 
a monument in the town to-day, except the old 
cathedral of Saint Marie Majeure, which takes 
rank among those which appeal for architec- 
tural worth alone. The arsenal is the chief 
attraction; remove it, and Toulon might be- 
come a great commercial centre, or even a 
" watering-place," but with it the very atmos- 
phere smacks of powder and shot. 

The city is not unlovely as great cities go. 
It is modern, well-kept, and certainly well- 
beautified by trees and shrubs and flowers, and 
wide, straight streets, and, above all, it is 
blessed with a charming situation. 

Of all the cities of the Mediterranean (al- 
ways excepting Marseilles), Toulon is the most 
gay. It has not the feverish commercialism of 
Marseilles, but it has an up-to-dateness that 
is quite as much to be remarked. There are no 
boulevards maritimes or great hotels, as at 
Cannes or Nice, neither are there any special 




a. 
o 



^ 



Over Cap Sicie 213 

tourist attractions to make Toulon a resort, 
but there are cafes galore and much gaiety of 
a convivial kind. '' Une ville reguliere, d' as- 
pect Americain/' Toulon has been called, and 
it merits the appellation in some respects, with 
its straight streets and tall houses of brick or 
stone. A large number of great branching 
palms just saves the situation. 

The great defect of Toulon is that the quar- 
ter where centres the life of the city is far away 
from the sea. To get a satisfactory view of the 
magnificent harbour, or the commercial port of 
the Vieille Darse, one has to go even farther 
afield and climb one or the other of the hill- 
sides round about, when a truly great pano- 
rama spreads itself out. 

La Seyne, the great ship-building suburb of 
Toulon, is a model of what a manufacturing 
town of its class should be, though it has no 
real meaning for the tourist for rest or pleas- 
ure. For the student of things and men, the 
case is somewhat different. For instance, you 
may read, posted up on the wall opposite the 
entrance to the ship-building establishment, 
that the Gazetta del Popolo of Genoa has a 
correspondent at Toulon, this in big, staring 
red and green letters surmounting a more or 
less rude woodcut of an Italian soldier. From 



214 Rambles on the Riviera 

this one gathers that the Italian workmen are 
numerous hereabouts, as indeed they are, and 
almost everywhere else along the coast. As 
like as not the hotel gargon serves your soup 
with an " Ecco/^ instead of a '' Voild! " and 
sooner or later you come to realize that the 
hybrid speech which you hear on street corners 
is not Provencal but Franco-Italian. 

Toulon, in history, makes a long and brilliant 
chapter, but a cataloguing even of the events 
can have no place here. Its prominence as a 
stronghold and bulwark of the French nation 
was due to Louis XII., the second husband of 
Anne of Bretagne, who, it is said, inspired his 
predecessor on the throne (and in her affec- 
tions) to first appreciate the advantages of 
Brest as a stronghold of a similar character. 

Ages before this Toulon was founded by the 
Phoenicians, it is supposed sometime before 
the tenth century. The royal purple of the 
East and the desire to possess it, or make it, 
was the prime cause; for the ancients found 
that the waters around Toulon gave birth to 
a mollusk which dyed everything with which 
it came in contact into a most brilliant purple. 
It seems a small thing to found a great city 
upon, and the industry is non-existent to-day, 
but such is the more or less legendary account. 



Over Cap Sicie 215 

After the Phoenicians Toulon fell into the 
background, and the possibilities of building 
here a great port which might rival Marseilles 
were utterly neglected. 

It seems probable that the original name of 
the town was Telo, which in the itinerary of 
Antony is given as Telo-Martius, from an 
ancient temple to Mars, thus distinguishing it 
from a similar name applied to many other 
places in the Narbonnais. 

Finally Toulon emerged from its semi-ob- 
scurity, and Guillaume de Tarente, Comte de 
Provence, in 1055, surrounded with wall '' the 
place called Tholon or ToUon." 

Until the tenth century Toulon's ecclesiasti- 
cal history was more momentous than was its 
civic. It had been the seat of a bishop for a 
matter of six centuries, with St. Honorat, St. 
G'ratien, and St. Cyprien as bishops, all within 
the first century of its existence. 

The plan to make Toulon one of the great 
fortified places of the world was carried on 
assiduously by Eichelieu, who commanded a 
certain Jacques Desmarets, professor of math- 
ematics at the university at Aix, to make a 
plan which should show the Provengal coast- 
line in all its detail. The instructions read, 
" . , . sur velin, enlumine en or et representant 



216 Rambles on the Riviera 



la cote jusqu'd deux ou trois lieues dans les 
terres." 

The general scheme was carried out further 
by Mazarin, the wily Italian who succeeded 
Richelieu. In company with Louis XIV., Maz- 
arin visited Toulon, and then and there decided 
that it should take the first place in the king- 
dom as a stronghold for the navy. 

Toulon then became the greatest naval ar- 
senal the world had known. In 1670 it armed 
forty-two ships of the line, among them many 
three-deckers, which all lovers of the romance 
of the seas have come to accept as the most 
imposing craft then afloat, whatever may have 
been their additional virtues. Among those 
fitted for sea and armed at Toulon was the 
Magnifique, a vessel which excited universal 
enthusiasm all over Europe, not only because 
it mounted a hundred and four guns, but be- 
cause the sculptor Puget had designed her dec- 
orations, and decorations on ships were much 
more ornate in those days than they are in the 
present vagaries of the ''art nouveau." 

Puget lived at Toulon at the time, and had 
indeed already designed the caryatides which 
stand out so prominently in the Toulon's Hotel 
de Ville. His house in the Rue de la Republique, 
known by every one as the '' Maison Puget," 



Over Cap Side 217 

is one of the shrines at which art-worshippers 
should not neglect to pay homage. It has some 
remarkably beautiful features, a fine stairway 
in wrought iron, an elaborate newel-post, and 
many similar decorations. 

Back of Toulon is the great gray mass of 
the Faron, fortified, as is every height and point 
of view round about. From the summit of this 
great height (546 metres) one may see, on a 
clear day, Corsica and the Alps of Savoie. The 
fortifications are too numerous to call by name 
here, and, indeed, they are uninteresting enough 
to the lover of the romantically picturesque, 
regardless of their worth from a strategic point 
of view. Like the cannon, the forts are every- 
where. 

Formerly the port of Toulon was closed by 
sinking a great chain across the harbour-mouth. 
It went down with the sinking of the sun and 
only rose at daybreak. The guardianship of 
this defence was given to some ^' Jiomme de 
con fiance " of Toulon as a sort of deserved 
honour or glory. This was in the seventeenth 
century, and to-day, though the guard-ships and 
the search-lights of the forts do the same serv- 
ice, the name " Chaine Vieille " is still in the 
mouths of the old sailors and fishermen as they 



218 Rambles on the Riviera 

make their way to and fro from the Grande to 
the Petite Rade. 

Toulon has among its great men of the past 
the name of the Chevalier Paul, perhaps first 
and foremost of all the seafarers of France 
since the day of Dougay-Trouin. He had fixed 
his residence in the valley of the Dardennes, 
with a roof over his head " tout a fait digne 
d'un prince." In the month of February, 1660, 
the celebrated sailor received Louis XIV., Anne 
of Austria, the Due d 'Orleans, Cardinal Maz- 
arin, " la grande Mademoiselle," innumerable 
princes and seigneurs, four Secretaires d'Etat, 
the ambassador of Venice, and the papal nun- 
cio. This royal company was splendidly feted, 
much after the manner of those assemblies held 
in the previous century in the chateaux of Tou- 
raine. The Chevalier bore until his death the 
title of supreme ^ ' Commandant de la Marine, ' ' 
and when his death came, at the age of seventy, 
he made the poor of the city his heirs. 

One memory of Toulon, which is familiar to 
students of history and romance, are the pris- 
ons and galleys of other days. Dumas draws 
a vivid picture of the life in the galleys in one 
of his little known but most absorbing tales, 
" Gabriel Lambert." 

To be sure, those who were condemned '' d 



Over Cap Side 219 



ramer sur les galeres '' were mostly culprits 
who deserved some sort of punishment, but 
the survival of the institution was one that one 
marvels at in these advanced centuries. 

Eeally the galley, and the uses to which it 
was put at Toulon in the eighteenth century, 
was a survival of the galley of the ancients. 
It was a long slim craft, of light draught, pro- 
pelled by a single, double, or treble bank of 
oars, and sometimes sails. 

The punishment of the galleys, that is to say, 
the obligation to '^ ramer sur les galeres," was 
applied to certain classes of criminals who were 
known as for gats or galeriens. The crime of 
Gabriel Lambert, of whom Dumas wrote with 
such fidelity, was that of counterfeiting. 

In 1749 there were sixteen galeres here, eight 
of them at '' practice " at one time, giving oc- 
cupation to thirty-seven hundred convicts who 
were quartered on old hulks moored to the 
quays or on shore in a convict prison. 

Between Toulon and Hyeres, lying back from 
the coast, in the valley of the Gapeau, is a bit 
of transplanted Africa, where the brilliant sun 
shines with all the vigour that it does on the 
opposite Mediterranean shore. The valley is 
perhaps the most important topographically 
west of the Rhone, at least until one reaches 



220 



Rambles on the Riviera 




Over Cap Sicie 221 

the Var at Nice. There is a sprinkling of small 
towns here and there, and more frequent coun- 
try residences and vineyards, but there is an 
air of solitude about it that can but be remarked 
by all who travel by road. 

One great highroad runs out from Toulon 
through Sollies-Pont, Cuers, Puget-Ville, Pi- 
gnans, and Le Luc to Frejus. The coast road 
leads to the same objective point, but the char- 
acteristics of the two are as different as can 
be. A more varied and more charming combi- 
nation of scenic charms, than can be had by 
journeying out via one route and back by the 
other, can hardly be found in this world, unless 
one has in mind some imaginary blend of 
Switzerland and the Mediterranean. 

The region is known as Les Maures, the 
name in reality referring to the mountain chain 
whose peaks follow the coast-line at a distance 
of from thirty to fifty kilometres. 

The whole region known as Les Maures is 
in a state of semi-solitude ; twenty-three thou- 
sands souls for an area of one hundred and 
twenty thousand hectares is a remarkable spar- 
sity of population for most parts of France. 

Cuers is the metropolis of the region and 
boasts of some three thousand inhabitants, and 
a great trade in the oil of the olive. 



222 Rambles on the Riviera 

There is absolutely nothing of interest to the 
tourist in any of these little towns between 
Toulon and Frejus. There is to be sure the 
usual picturesque church, which, if not grand 
or architecturally excellent, is invariably what 
artists call '' interesting," and there is always 
a picturesque grouping of roof-tops, clustered 
around the church in a manner unknown out- 
side of France. 

Occasionally one does see a small town in 
France which reminds him of Italy, and occa- 
sionally one that suggests Holland, but mostly 
they are French and nothing but French, 
though they be as varied in colour as Joseph's 
coat, and as diversified in manners and customs 
as one would imagine of a country whose cli- 
mate runs the whole gamut from northern 
snows to southern olive groves. 

In reality, Cuers shares its importance with 
Les Sollies, whose curious name grew up from 
the memory of a Temple of the Sun, upon the 
remains of which is built the present church 
of Sollies-Ville. 

Sollies-Pont owes its name to the pont, or 
bridge, by which the '' Eoute Nationale " 
crosses the G'apeau. It is the centre of the 
cherry culture in the Var, and at the time of 
year when the trees are in blossom, the aspect 




In Les Maures 



Over Cap Side 223 

of the surrounding hillsides would put cherry- 
blossoming Japan to shame. The crop is the 
first which comes into the market in France. 
The lovers of early fruits, in Paris restaurants 
and hotels, know the '' cerises du Var " very 
well indeed. They buy them at the highest 
market prices, delightfully put up in boxes of 
poplar-wood and garnished with lace-paper. 
Annually Sollies-Pont despatches something 
like a hundred thousand cases of these first 
cherries of the year, each weighing from three 
to twelve kilos, and bringing — well, anything 
they can command, the very first perhaps as 
much as eight or ten francs a kilo. This for 
the first few straggling boxes which some for- 
tunate grower has been able to pick off a well- 
sunned tree. Within a fortnight the price will 
have fallen to fifty centimes, and at the end 
of a month the traffic is all over, so far as the 
export to outside markets is concerned. 

** Cherries are grown everywhere," one says. 
Yes, but not such cherries as at Sollies-Pont. 

Here at this little railway station in the Var 
one may see a whole train loaded with a hun- 
dred thousand kilos of the most luscious cher- 
ries one ever cast eyes upon. 

The aspect of the region round about has 
nothing of the grayness of the olive orchards 



224 Rambles on the Riviera 

east and west ; all this has given way to a flow- 
ering radiance and a brilliant green, as of an 
oasis in a desert. 

The gathering of this important crop is con- 
ducted with more care than that of any other 
of the Riviera. The trees are not shaken and 
their fruit picked up off the ground, nor do 
agile lads climb in and out among the branches. 
Not even a ladder is thrust between the thick 
leaves of the trees, but a great straddling step- 
ladder, like those used by the olive pickers of 
the Bouches-du-Rhone, is carried about from 
tree to tree, and gives a foothold to two, three, 
or even four lithe, young girls, whose graces 
are none the less for their gymnastics at reach- 
ing for the fruit head-high and at arm's length. 

One marvels perhaps — when he sees these 
boxes of luscious cherries in the Paris market 
— as to how they may have been packed with 
such symmetry. It is very simple, though the 
writer had to see it done at Sollies-Pont be- 
fore he realized it. The boxes are simply 
packed from the top downwards, so to speak. 
The first layer is packed in close rows, the 
stems all pointing upwards, then the rest of 
the contents are put in without plan or design, 
and the cover fastened down. When the pack- 
ages are opened, it is the bottom that is lifted, 



Over Cap Sicie 225 

and thus one sees first the rosy-red globules, 
all in rows, like the little wooden balls of the 
counting machines. 

The south of France is destined to provision 
a great part of Europe, and already it is play- 
ing its part well. The cherries of Sollies-Pont 
go — after Paris has had its fill — to England, 
Switzerland, Belgium, Germany, and Russia, 
though doubtless only the ' ' milords ' ' and mil- 
lionaires get a chance at them. 

Besides the consumption of the fruit au na- 
turel, the cherries of the Var are the most pre- 
ferred of all those delicacies which are pre- 
served in brandy, and a cocktail, of any of the 
many varieties that are made in America (and 
one place, and one only, in Paris — which shall 
be nameless), with one of the cherries of Sol- 
lies-Pont drowned therein, is a superdelicious 
thing, unexcelled in all the '' made drinks " 
the world knows to-day. 



CHAPTER III. 

THE KEAL, EIVIERA 

The real Frencli Riviera is not the resorts 
of rank and fashion alone; it is the whole 
ensemble of that marvellous bit of coast-line 
extending eastward from Toulon to the Italian 
frontier. Topographically, geographically, and 
climatically it abounds in salient features which, 
in combination, are unknown in any similar 
strip of territory in all the world, though there 
is very little that is strange, outre, or exotic 
about any of its aspects. It is simply a com- 
bination of conditions which are indigenous to 
the sunny, sheltered shores of the northern 
Mediterranean, which are here blessed, owing 
to a variety of reasons, with a singularly equa- 
ble climate and situation. 

Doubtless the region is not the peer of south- 
ern California in topography or climate; in- 
deed, without fear or favour, the statement is 
here made that it is not ; but it has what Cali- 
fornia never has had, nor ever will, a history- 
strewn pathway traversing its entire length, 

226 



The Real Riviera 227 

where the monuments left by the ancient Greeks 
and Eomans tell a vivid story of the past great- 
ness of the progenitors and moulders of mod- 
ern civilization. 

This in itself should be enough to make the 
Riviera revered, as it justly is; but it is not 
this, but the gay life of those who neither toil 
nor spin that makes this world's beauty-spot 
(for Monaco and Monte Carlo are assuredly 
the most beautiful spots in the world) so wor- 
shipped by those who have sojourned here. 

This is wrong of course, but the simple life 
has not yet come to be the institution that its 
prophets would have us believe, and, after all, 
a passion of some sort is the birthright of every 
man, whether it be gambling at Monte Carlo, 
automobiling on sea or land, painting, or at- 
tempting to paint, the masterpieces of nature, 
or studying historic monuments. At any rate, 
all these diversions are here, and more, and, 
as one may pursue any of them under more 
idyllic conditions here than elsewhere, the 
Riviera is become justly famed — and notori- 
ous. 

Not all Riviera visitors live in palatial hotels ; 
some of them live en pension, which, like the 
boarding-house of other lands, has its unde- 
niable advantage of economy, and its equally 



228 Rambles on the Riviera 

undeniable disadvantages too numerous to men- 
tion and needless to recall. 

Of course the Riviera has undeniable social 
attractions, since it was developed (so far as 
the English — and Americans — are concerned) 
by that vain man, Lord Brougham. 

Lord Brougham, Lord Chancellor of Eng- 
land, first gave the popular fillip to Cannes in 
the early years of Queen Victoria's reign. 
From that time the Riviera, east and west of 
Cannes, has steadily increased in popularity 
and in transplanted institutions. The chief of 
these is perhaps the tea-tippling craze which 
has struck the Riviera with full force. It's not 
as exhilarating an amusement as automobiling, 
which runs it a close second here, but a '' tea- 
fight " at a Riviera hotel de luxe has at least 
something more than the excitement of a game 
of golf or croquet, which also flourish on the 
sand-dunes under the pines, from St. Tropez 
to Menton, and even over into Italy. 

It 's a pity the tea-drinking craze is so monop- 
olizing, — really it is as bad as the * ^ Pernod ' ' 
habit, and is no more confined to old maids 
than are Bath chairs or the reading of the 
Morning Post. Bishop Berkeley certainly was 
in error when he wrote, or spoke, about the 
" cup that cheers but does not inebriate," for 



The Real Riviera 229 

the saying has come to be one of the false 
truths which is so much of a platitude that 
few have ever thought of denying it. 

The doctors say that one should not take 
tea or alcohol on the Riviera, the ozone of the 
climate supplying all the stimulant necessary. 
If one wants anything more exciting, let him 
try the tables at Monte Carlo. 

Eiviera weather is a variable commodity. 
Some localities are more subject to the mistral 
than others, though none admit that they have 
it to the least degree, and some places are more 
relaxing than others. Menton is warm, and 
very little rain falls; Nice is blazing hot and 
cold by turn ; and there are seasons at Cannes, 
in winter, when, but for the date in the daily 
paper, you would think it was May. 

Beaulieu and Cap Martin lead off for uni- 
formity of the day and night temperature. 
The reading at the former place (in that part 
known as '' Petite Afrique ") on a January 
day in 1906 being: minimum during the 
night, 9° centigrade ; maximum during the day, 
11° centigrade ; 8 a. m., 10° centigrade ; 2 p. m., 
9° centigrade, and, in a particularly well-shel- 
tered spot in the gardens of the Hotel Met- 
ropole, 15° centigrade. This is a remarkable 



230 



Rambles on the Riviera 



and convincing demonstration of the claims for 
an equable temperature which are set forth. 

In general this is not true of the Riviera. 
A bright, sunny, and cloudless January day, 
when one is uncomfortably warm at midday, 
is, as likely as not, followed at night by a sud- 
den fall in temperature that makes one frigid, 
if only by contrast. 





,._,. -ir\ ^Xx#'-T>. 




■ 




» " 

«< 




- 


1 




Cotnparah 


ve 1 


^heo7 


netric Scale 



The Riviera house-agent tells you : ' * Do not 
come here unless you are prepared to stay " 
(he might have added '* and pay "), " for the 
Riviera renders all other lands uninhabitable 
after once you have fallen under its charm." 

Amid all the gorgeousness of perhaps the 
most exquisite beauty-spot in all the world — 
that same little strip of coast between Hyeres 



The Real Riviera 231 

and Menton — is a colony of parasitic dwellers 
who are no part of the attractions of the place ; 
but who unconsciously act as a loadstone which 
draws countless others of their countrymen, 
with their never absent diversions of golf, ten- 
nis, and croquet. One pursues these harmless 
sports amid a delightful setting, but why come 
here for that purpose? One cannot walk the 
Boulevards and Grandes Promenades all of the 
time, to be sure, but he might take that rest 
which he professedly comes for, or failing that, 
take a plunge into the giddy whirl of the life 
of the " Casino " or the '' Cercle." The result 
will be the same^ and he wiU be just as tired 
when night comes and he has overfed himself 
with a diner Parisien at a great palace hotel 
where the only persons who do not *' dress " 
are the waiters. 

This is certain, — the traveller and seeker 
after change and rest will not find it here any 
more than in Piccadilly or on Broadway, un- 
less he leaves the element of big hotels far 
in the background, and lives simply in some 
little hovering suburb such as Cagnes is to Nice 
or Le Cannet to Cannes, or preferably goes 
farther afield. Only thus may one live the life 
of the author of the following lines: 



232 Rambles on the Riviera 

" There found he all for which he long did crave, 
Beauty and solitude and simple ways, 
Plain folk and primitive, made courteous by 
Traditions old, and a cerulean sky." 

The rest is bubble, bubble, toil, and trouble 
of the same kind that one has in the hotels of 
San Francisco, London, or Amsterdam ; every- 
thing cooked in the same pot and tasting of 
cottolene and beef extract. 

There is some truth in this, — for some peo- 
ple, — but the ties that bind are not taken into 
consideration, and, though the words are an 
echo of those uttered by Alphonse Karr when 
he first settled at St. Raphael, — after having 
been driven from Etretat by the vulgar throng, 
— they will not fit every one 's ideas or pocket- 
books. 

Popularity has made a boulevard of the 
whole coast from St. Raphael to San Remo, 
and indeed to Genoa, and there is no seclusion 
to be had, nor freedom from the ** sirens " of 
automobiles, or the tin horns of trams and 
whistles of locomotives; unless one leaves the 
beaten track and settles in some background 
village, such as Les Maures or the Esterel, 
where the hum of life is but the drone of yes- 
terday and Paris papers are three days old 
when they reach you. 



The Real Riviera 233 

For all that the whole Eiviera, and its gay 
life as well, is delightful, though it is as ener- 
vating and fatiguing as the week's shopping 
and theatre-going in Paris with which Ameri- 
can travellers usually wind up their tour of 
Europe. 

The Riviera isn't exactly as a Frenchman 
wrote of it : ' ' all Americans, English, and Ger- 
mans," and it is hardly likely you will find a 
hotel where none of the attendants speak 
French (as this same Frenchman declared), 
but nevertheless " All right " is as often the 
reply as '' Oui, monsieur." 

All the multifarious attractions of this strip 
of coast-line are doubly enhanced by the deli- 
cious climate, and the wonders of the Bale des 
Anges and the Golfe de la Napoule are more 
and more charming as the sun rises higher in 
the heavens, and La Napoule, St. Jean, Beau- 
lieu, Passable, Villefranche, Cap Martin, and 
Cap Ferrat, the ^' Corniche," La Turbie, Mo- 
naco, and Menton are all names to conjure with 
when one wants to call to mind what a modern 
Eden might be like. 

Of course Monte Carlo dominates everything. 
It is the one objective point, more or less fre- 
quently, of all Riviera dwellers. The sump- 
tuousness of it acts like a loadstone toward 



234 Rambles on the Riviera 

steel, or the candle-flame to the moth, and many 
are the wings that are singed and clipped 
within its boundaries. 

Whatever may be the moral or immoral as- 
pect of Monte Carlo, it does not matter in the 
least. It has its opponents and its partisans, 
— and the bank goes on winning for ever. 
Meantime the whole region is prosperous, and 
the public certainly gets what it comes for. The 
Monegasques themselves profit the most how- 
ever. They are, for instance, exempt from 
taxes of any sort, which is considerable of .a 
boon in heavily taxed continental Europe. 

Monte Carlo is an enigma. Its palatial 
hotels, its Casino, its game, and its concerts 
and theatre, its pigeon-shooting, its automobile 
yachting, and all the rest contribute to a round 
of gaiety not elsewhere known. It may rain 
'' hallebardes," as the French have it, but the 
most adverse weather report which ever gets 
into the papers from Monte Carlo is ^' del 
nuageux." 

If Marseilles is the " Modern Babylon " of 
the workaday world, the Riviera — in the sea- 
son — may well be called the " Cosmopolis de 
luxe." In winter all nations under the sun 
are there, but in summer it is quite another 
story; still, Monte Carlo's tables run the year 



The Real Riviera 235 

around, and, as the inhabitant of the princi- 
pality is not allowed to enter its profane por- 
tals, it is certain that visitors are not entirely 
absent. 

There are three distinct Rivieras: the 
French Riviera proper, from Toulon to Men- 
ton; the Italian Riviera, from Bordighera to 
Alassio; and the Levantine Riviera, from 
Genoa to Viareggio. 

Partisans plead loudly for Cairo, Biskra, 
Capri, Palermo, and Majorca, — and some for 
Madeira or Grand Canary, — but the compara- 
tively restricted bit of Mediterranean coast- 
line known as the three Rivieras will undoubt- 
edly hold its own with the mass of winter birds 
of passage. Just why this is so is obvious for 
three reasons. The first because it is accessi- 
ble, the second, because it is moderately cheap 
to get to, and to live in after one gets there, 
unless one really does *' plunge," which most 
Anglo-Saxons do not ; and the third, — whisper 
it gently, — because the English or American 
tourist, be he semi-invalid or be he not, hopes 
to find his fellows there, and as many as possi- 
ble of his pet institutions, such as afternoon 
tea and cocktails, marmalade and broiled live 
lobsters, to say nothing of his own language, 



236 Rambles on the Riviera 

spoken in the lisping accents of a Swiss or 
German waiter. 

It is not necessary to struggle with French 
on the Eiviera, and the estimable lady of the 
following anecdote might have called for help 
in English and got it just as quickly: 

At the door of a Eiviera express, stopping 
at the Gare de Cannes, an elderly English lady 
tripped over the rug and was prostrated her 
full-length on the platform. 

Gallant Frenchmen rushed to her aid from 
all quarters: *' Vous n'avez pas de mal, ma- 
dame? " " Merci, non, seulement une petite 
sac de voyage," she replied, as she limpingly 
and lispingly made her way through the crowd. 

This ought to dispose of the language ques- 
tion once for all. If you are on the Riviera, 
speak English, or, likely enough, you will fall 
into similar errors unless you know that vague 
thing, idiomatic French, which is only acquired 
by familiarity. 

The French Riviera has from forty to fifty 
rainy days a year, which is certainly not much ; 
and it is conceivable that a stay of two months 
at Nice, Cannes, or Menton will not bring a 
rainy day to mar the memory of this sunny 
land. On the other hand, the Levantine Rivi- 
era may have ten days of rain in a month, and 



The Real Riviera 237 

the next month another ten days may follow — 
or it may not. It is well, however, not to over- 
look the fact that Pisa, not so very far inland 
from the easternmost end of the Italian Rivi- 
era, is called the * ' Pozzo dell Italia ' ' — the 
well of Italy. 

There was a time when Cannes, Nice, and 
Menton were favoured as invalid resorts, and 
as mere pleasant places to while away a dull 
period of repose, but to-day all this is changed, 
and even the semi-invalid is looked at askance 
by the managers of hotels and the purveyors of 
amusements. 

The social attractions have quite swamped 
the health-giving inducements of the chief 
towns of the Riviera, and the automobile has 
taken the place of the Bath chair ; indeed, it is 
the world, the flesh, and the devil which have 
come into the province where ministering an- 
gels formerly held sway. 

At the head of all the throng of Riviera 
pleasure-seekers are the royalties and the no- 
bility of many lands. '' Au-dessous d'eux," as 
one reads in the monologue of Charles Quint, 
" la foide/' but here the throng is still those 
who have the distinction of wealth, whatever 
may be their other virtues. A ^' petit million- 
aire Frangais/' by which the Frenchman means 



238 Rambles on the Riviera 

one who has perhaps thirty thousand francs 
a year, stands no show here ; his place is taken 
by the sugar and copper kings and ' ' milords ' ' 
and millionaires from overseas. 

There are others, of course, who come and 
go, and who have not got a million sous, or ever 
will have, but the best they can do is to hire 
a garden seat on the promenade and with Don 
Cesar de Bazan '' regarder entrer et sor- 
tir les duchesses." It is either this (in most 
of the resorts of fashion along the Eiviera) 
or one must '^ manger les haricots " for eleven 
months in order to be able to ape '^ le monde " 
for the other twelfth part of the year. Most 
of us would not do the thing, of course, so we 
are content to slip in and out, and admire, and 
marvel, and deplore, and put in our time in 
some spot nearer to nature, where dress clothes 
cease from troubling and functions are no 
more. 



CHAPTER IV. 

HYERES AND ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD 

Just off the coast road from Toulon to Hy- 
eres is the tiny town of La Garde. The com- 
mune boasts of twenty-five hundred inhabit- 
ants, most of whom evidently live in hillside 
dwellings, for the town proper has but a few 
hundreds, a very few, judging from its som- 
nolence and lack of life. More country than 
town, the district abounds in lovely sweeps of 
landscape. Pradet, another little village, lies 
toward the coast, and, amid the dull grays of 
the olive-trees, gleams the white tower of a 
chapel which belongs to the modern chateau. 
The chapel, which bears the sentimental no- 
menclature of ^' La Pauline," is filled by a 
wonderful lot of sculptures from the chisel of 
Pradier. Decidedly it is a thing to be seen 
and appreciated by lovers of sculptured art, 
even though its modern chateau is painful in 
its bald, pagan architectural forms. 

Beyond La Garde lies the plain of Hyeres, 
and offshore the great Golfe de Giens, well 

239 



240 Rambles on the Riviera 

sheltered and surrounded by the peninsula of 
the same namCj one of the beauty-spots of the 
Mediterranean scarcely known and still less 
visited by tourists. Directly off the tip end 
of the peninsula of Giens is a little group 
of rocky isles known as the lies d'Hyeres. 
They are indescribably lovely, but the seafarers 
of these parts of the Mediterranean dread them 
in a storm as do Channel sailors the Casquets 
in a fog. 

The chief of these isles is Porquerolles, and 
it possesses a village of the same name, which 
has never yet been marked down as a place of 
resort. To be sure, no one, unless he were an 
artist attached to the painting of marines, or 
an author who thought to get far from the 
madding throng, would ever come here, any- 
way. The village is not so bad, though, and it 
is as if one had entered a new world. There 
is an inn where one is sure of getting a pas- 
sable breakfast of fish and eggs; a '' Grande 
Place " which, paradoxically, is not grand at 
all; and a humble little church which is not 
bad in its way. Two or three cafes, a bake- 
shop, and a Bureau des Douanes, of course, 
complete the business part of the place. Each 
little maisonette has a terrace overshadowed 
with vines, and, all in all, it is truly an idyllic 



Hyeres and Its Neighbourhood 241 

little settlement. The isle culminates in a peak 
five hundred feet or so high, on the top of 
which is seated a fortification called Fort de 
la Repentance. 

The entire isle, with the exception of that 
portion occupied by the fort and its batteries, 
belongs to a M. and Madame de Roussen, who 
are known to readers of French novels under 
the names of Pierre Ninous and Paul d'Aigre- 
mont. The proprietors have charmingly en- 
sconced themselves in a delightful residence, 
which, if it does not rise to the dignity of a 
chateau, has as magnificent a stage setting as 
the most theatrical of the chateaux of the Loire ; 
only, in this case, it is a seascape which con- 
fronts one, instead of the sweep of the broad 
blue river of Touraine. 

Two hundred and fifty inhabitants live here, 
but away in the west there was formerly a 
colony of a thousand or more workmen engaged 
in the manufacture of soda. For more reasons 
than one — the principal being that the sul- 
phurous fumes from the works were having 
an ill effect on the verdure — the establishment 
was purchased by the present proprietors of 
the isle. 

The village has somewhat of the airs of its 
bigger brothers and sisters elsewhere in that 



242 Rambles on the Riviera 

its streets are lighted at night; the wharves 
are as animated as those of a great world-town, 
particularly on the arrival of the boat from 
Toulon; and the market-women sit about the 
street corners with their wares picturesquely 
displayed before them as they do in larger 
communities. 

Truly, PorqueroUes is unspoiled as yet, and 
the marvel is that it has not become an " art- 
ist's sketching-ground " before now. It has 
many claims in this respect besides its natural 
beauties and attractions, one, not unappre- 
ciated by artists, being that it is not likely to 
be overrun by tourists. The reason for this is 
that the Courrier des lies d'Hyeres, as the 
diminutive steamer which arrives three times 
a week is called, is subsidized by the ministry 
for war, and the captain has the right to refuse 
passage to civilians when his craft is over- 
loaded with travelling soldiers and sailors, 
whom the French government, presumably 
from motives of economy, prefers to move in 
this way from point to point among the vari- 
ous forts along the coast. 

Four or five other islets make up the group 
which geographers and map-makers know as 
the lies d'Hyeres, but which the sentimental 
Provengaux best like to think of as the lies 



Hyeres and Its Neighbourhood 243 

d'Or; but their characteristics are quite the 
same as Porquerolles. There is here a pic- 
turesque fort called Alicastre, derived from 
Castrum Ali, a souvenir, it is said, of a Saracen 
chief who once entrenched himself here. Local 
report has it that the Man in the Iron Mask 
was imprisoned here at one time, but the near- 
est that history comes to this is to place his 
imprisonment at Ste. Marguerite and the Cha- 
teau d'If. 

From the sea, as one comes by boat from 
Toulon, the Presqu'ile de Giens looks as 
though it were an island and had no connection 
with the land, for the neck connecting it with 
the mainland is invisible, both from the east- 
ward and the westward, while the rocks of the 
tip end of the peninsula are abruptly imposing 
as they rise from the sea-level to a moderate 
but jagged height. 

As one approaches closer he notes the capri- 
cious scallops of the shore-line of this bizarre 
but beautiful jutting point, and congratulates 
himself that he did not make his way overland. 

A little village is in the extreme south, its 
whitewashed houses shepherded by a little 
church and the ruins of an old fortress-cha- 
teau. The town is as nothing, but the view 
is most soothing and tranquil in its impressive 



244 Rambles on the Riviera 

beauty and quiet charm. Nothing is violent 
or exaggerated, but the components of many 
ideal pictures are to be had for the turning 
of the head. Giens is another " artist's sketch- 
ing-ground ' ' which has been wof ully neglected. 

The eastern shore is less savage and there 
are some attempts at agriculture, but on the 
whole Giens and its peninsula are but a dis- 
tant echo of anything seen elsewhere. The 
quadrilateral walls of the old chateau, a sema- 
phore, and a coast-guard station form, col- 
lectively, a beacon by sea and by land, and, 
as one makes his way to the mainland along 
the narrow causeway, he is reminded of that 
sandy ligature which binds Mont St. Michel 
with Pontorson, on the boundary of Brittany 
and Normandy. 

Hyeres is no longer fashionable. One would 
not think this to read the alluring advertise- 
ments of its palatial hotels, which, if not so 
grand and palatial as those at Monte Carlo, 
are, at least, far more splendid than those 
" board-walk " abominations of the United 
States, or the deadly brick Georgian fagades 
which adorn many of the sea-fronts of the 
south coast of England. The fact is, that soci- 
ety, or what passes for it, flutters around the 
gaming-tables of Monte Carlo, though for mo- 



Hyeres and Its Neighbourhood 245 

tives of economy or respectability they may 
sojourn at Nice, Menton, or Cap Martin. 

For this reason Hyeres is all the more de- 
lightful. It is the most southerly of all the 
Riviera resorts, and, while it is still a place 
of villas and hotels, there is a restfulness about 
it all that many a resort with more lurid at- 
tractions entirely lacks. 

Built cosily on the southern slope of a hill, 
it is effectually sheltered from the dread mis- 
tral, which, when it blows here, seems to come 
to sea-level at some distance from the shore. 
The effect is curious and may have been re- 
marked before. The sea inshore will be of that 
rippling blue that one associates with the Medi- 
terranean of the poets and painters, while per- 
haps a ieague distant it will roll up into those 
choppy whitecaps which only the Mediterra- 
nean possesses in all their disagreeableness. 
Truly the wind-broken surface of the Mediter- 
ranean in, or near, the Golfe de Lyon is some- 
thing to be dreaded, whether one is aboard a 
liner bound for the Far East or on one of those 
abominable little boats which make the passage 
to Corsica or Sardinia. 

Hyeres in one of its moods is almost tropical 
in its softness with its famous avenue of palms 
which wave in the gentle breezes which spring 



246 Rambles on the Riviera 

up mysteriously from nowhere and last for 
about an hour at midday. Its avenues and 
promenades are delightful, and there is never 
a suggestion of the snows which occasionally 
fall upon most of the Riviera resorts at least 
once during a winter. The only snow one is 
likely to see at Hyeres is the white-capped 
Alps in the dim northeastern distance, and that 
will be so far away that it will look like a soft 
fleecy cloud. 

Hyeres is beautiful from any point of view, 
even when one enters it by railway from Mar- 
seilles, and even more so — indescribably more 
so, the writer thinks — when approaching by 
the highroad, from Toulon or Sollies-Pont, 
awheel or ^^ e^ auto." 

Of all the historical memories of Hyeres 
none is the equal of that connected with St. 
Louis. None will be able to read without emo- 
tion the memoirs of Joinville, giving the details 
of the return of Louis IX. and his wife, Mar- 
guerite de Provence, from the Crusades. The 
account of their arrival " au port d'Yeres 
devant le chastel " is most thrilling. One read- 
ily enough locates the site to-day, though the 
outlines of the old city walls and the chateau 
have sadly suffered from the stress of time. 

This was a great occasion for Hyeres; the 



Hyeres and Its Neighbourhood 247 

greatest it has ever known, perhaps. '' They 
saluted the returning sovereign with loud ac- 
clamations, and the standard of France floated 
from the donjon of the castle as witness to 
the fidelity of the inhabitants for the sover- 
eign. ' ' 

The '* good King Eene," in a later century, 
had a great affection for Hyeres also, and was 
equally beloved by its inhabitants. One of his 
legacies to Jeanne de Provence were the salt- 
works of Hyeres, which were even then in ex- 
istence. 

Hyeres enjoyed a strenuous enough life 
through all these years, but the saddest event in 
its whole career was when the traitorous Con- 
netable de Bourbon took the chateau and turned 
it over to France's arch-enemy, Charles V. 

Charles IX. visited Hyeres and remained 
five days within its walls, '^ his progress hav- 
ing been made between two rows of fruit-bear- 
ing orange-trees, freshly planted in the streets 
through which he was to pass." This flattery 
so pleased the monarch that he himself, so his- 
tory, or legend, states, carved the following 
inscription upon the trunk of one of those same 
orange-trees, ^' Caroli Regis Amplexu Glo- 
rior." 

One of the most beautiful strips of coast-line 



248 Rambles on the Riviera 

on the whole Eiviera lies between Hyeres and 
Frejus. A narrow-gauge railway makes its 
way almost at the water's edge for the entire 
distance, and the coast road, a great depart- 
mental highway, follows the same route. The 
distance is too great — seventy-five kilometres 
or more — for the pedestrian, unless he is one 
who keeps up old-time traditions, but neverthe- 
less there is but one way to enjoy this ever- 
changing itinerary to the full, and that is to 
make the journey somehow or other by high- 
road. The automobile, a bicycle, or a gentle 
plodding burro will make the trip more enjoy- 
able than is otherwise conceivable, even though 
the striking beauties which one sees from the 
slow-runing little train give one a glimmer of 
satisfaction. Seventy-five kilometres, scarce 
fifty miles ! It is nothing to an automobile, 
not much more to a bicycle, and only a two- 
days' jaunt for a sure-footed little donkey, 
which you may hire anywhere in these parts 
for ten francs a day, including his keeper. 
No more shall be said of this altogether de- 
lightful method of travelling this short stretch 
of wonderland's roadway, but the suggestion 
is thrown out for what it may be worth to any 
who would taste the joys of a new experience. 
Close under the frowning height of Les 



Hyeres and Its Neighbourhood 249 

Maures runs the coast road, for quite its whole 
length up to Frejus, while on the opposite side, 
and beneath, are the surging, restless waves 
of the Mediterranean. 

First one passes the Salines de Hyeres, one 
of those great governmental salt-works which 
line the Mediterranean coast, and soon reaches 
La Londe, famous for its lead mines and the 
rude gaiety of its seven or eight hundred work- 
men, who on a Sunday go back to primitive 
conditions and eat, drink, and make merry in 
rather a Gargantuan manner. This will not 
have much interest for the lover of the beauti- 
ful, but up to this point he will have regaled 
himself with a promenade along a beautiful 
sea-bordered roadway, whose opposite side has 
been flanked with rose-laurel, palms, orange- 
trees, and many exotic plants and shrubs of 
semi-tropical lands. 

From La Londe and its sordid industrialism 
one has twenty straight kilometres ahead of 
him until he reaches Bormes, a town which has 
been considered as a possible rival to Nice and 
Cannes, but which has never got beyond the 
outlining of sumptuous streets and boulevards 
and the erecting of two great hotels to which 
visitors do not come. It is an exquisite little 
town, the old bourg parallelled with the tracery 



260 Rambles on the Riviera 

of the new streets and avenues. Take it all 
in all, the site is about one of the best in the 
south for a winter station, though the non- 
proximity of the sea — a strong five kilometres 
away — may account for the slow growth of 
Bormes as a popular resort. 

The old town is most picturesque, its tor- 
tuous, sloping streets ever mounting and de- 
scending and making vistas of doorways and 
window balconies which would make a scene- 
painter green with envy, everything is so the- 
atrical. Like some of the little hill-towns of 
the country to the westward of Aix, Bormes 
is a reflection of Italy, although it has its own 
characteristics of manners and customs. 

The country immediately around this little 
town of less than seven hundred souls is of 
an incomparable splendour. There is nothing 
exactly like it to be seen in the whole of Pro- 
vence. In every direction are seen little scat- 
tered hamlets, or a group of two or three little 
houses hidden away amid groves of eucalyptus 
and thickets of mimosa, while the flanking 
panorama of Les Maures on one side, and the 
Mediterranean on the other, gives it all a set- 
ting which has a grandeur with nothing of the 
pretentious or spectacular about it. It is all 
focussed so finely, and it is so delicately col- 



Hyeres and Its Neighbourhood 251 

oured and outlined that it can only be com- 
pared to a pastel. 

The Bade de Bormes, though it really has 
nothing to do with Bonnes, a half a dozen kilo- 
metres distant, is another of those delightful 
bays which are scattered all along the Medi- 
terranean shore. It has all the beauty which 
one's fancy pictures, and the maker of high- 
coloured pictures would find his paradise along 
its banks, for there is a brilliancy about its 
ensemble that seems almost unnatural. 

In 1482 St. Frangois de Paule, called to 
France by the death of Louis XI., landed here. 
At the time Bormes was stricken with a plague 
or pest, and all intercourse with strangers was 
forbidden. But, when the saint demanded aid 
and refreshment after his long voyage, it was 
necessary to draw the cordon and open the 
gates of the town. In return for this hospi- 
tality, it is said by tradition, the holy man 
cured miraculously the sick of the town. The 
popular devotion to St. Frangois de Paule ex- 
ists at Bormes even up to the present day, in 
remembrance of this fortunate event. 

The old town itself is built on the sloping 
bank of a sort of natural amphitheatre, in spite 
of which it is well shaded and shadowed by 
numerous great banks of trees, while in every 



252 Rambles on the Riviera 

open plot may be seen aloes, cactus, agavas, 
immense geraniums, and tlie Barbary fig. 

The ruins of the feudal chateau of Bormes 
recall the memory of the Baroness Suzanne de 
Villeneuve, of Grasse and Bormes, who, in the 
sixteenth century, so steadfastly sought to 
avenge the assassination of her husband. 

Bormes possesses one other historic monu- 
ment in the Hermitage of Notre Dame de Con- 
stance, which, on a still higher hill, dominates 
the town, and everything else within the bound- 
ary of a distant horizon, in a startling fashion. 

Below, on the outskirts, is an old chapel and 
its surrounding cemetery, which, more than 
anything else in all France, looks Italian to 
every stone. 

One other shrine, this time an artistic one 
as well as a religious one, gives Bormes a high 
rank in the regard of worshippers of modern 
art and artists. On the little Place de la Li- 
berte is the Chapelle St. Frangois de Paule, 
where is interred the remains of the painter 
Cazin. 

In spite of the fact that it is far from the 
sea, Bormes has its " faubourg maritime," a 
little port which has an exceedingly active com- 
merce for its size. In reality the word port 
is excessive; it is hardly more than a beach 



Hyeres and Its Neighbourhood 253 

where the fishermen's boats are hauled up like 
the dories of down-east fishermen in New Eng- 
land. There is an apology for a dike or mole, 
but it is unusable. This will be the future 
ville de hains if Bormes ever really does be- 
come a resort of note. Its assured success is 
not yet in sight, and accordingly Bormes is 
still tranquil, and there are no noisy trams and 
hooting train-loads of excursionists breaking 
the stillness of its tranquil life. 



CHAPTER V. 

ST. TEOPEZ AND ITS " GOLFE " 

From Bormes the route runs close to the 
shore-line up to the Bale de Cavalaire, where 
it cuts across a ten-kilometre inland stretch 
and comes to the sea again at St. Tropez. 

The blue restless waves, the jutting capes, 
and the inlet bays and calanques make charm- 
ing combinations of land and sea and sky, and 
repeat the story already told. The route 
crosses many vine-planted hills and valleys, 
through short tunnels and around precipitous 
promontories, but always under the eyes is that 
divinely beautiful view of the waters of the 
Mediterranean. The traveller finds no villages, 
only little hamlets here and there, and innu- 
merable scattered country residences. 

At Cavalaire the mountains of the Maures 
become less abrupt, and surround the bay in 
a low semicircle of foot-hills, quite different 
from the precipitous '^ cornicJies " of the Es- 
terel or the mountains beyond Nice. 

The Baie de Cavalaire has nearly a league 

254 



St. Tropez and Its '' Golfe >> 255 

of fine sands; not so extensive that they are 
as yet in demand as an automobile race-track, 
but fine enough to rank as quite the best of 
their kind on the whole Mediterranean shore 
of France. There will never be a resort here 
which will rival Nice or Cannes; these latter 
have too great a start ; but whatever does grow 
up here in the way of a watering-place — a 
railway station and a Cafe-Eestaurant famous 
for its bouillabaisse have already arrived — 
will surpass them in many respects. 

The place has, moreover, according to med- 
ical reports, the least contrasting day and night 
temperature in winter of any of the Mediter- 
ranean stations. This would seem cause 
enough for the founding here of a great resort, 
but there is nothing of the kind nearer than 
the little village of Le Lavandou, passed on 
the road from Bormes, a hamlet whose inhab- 
itants are too few for the makers of guide- 
books to number, but which already boasts of 
a Grand Hotel and a Hotel des Strangers. 

At La Croix, just north of the Bale de Cava- 
laire, has grown up a little winter colony, con- 
sisting almost entirely of people from Lyons. 
It is here that formerly existed some of the 
most celebrated vineyards in Provence, the 



256 Rambles on the Riviera 

plants, it is supposed, being originally brought 
hither by the Saracens. 

The sudden breaking upon one's vision of 
the ravishing Golfe de St. Tropez, with its 
bordering fringe of palms, agavas, and rose- 
laurels, and its wonderful parasol-pines, which 
nowhere along the Riviera are as beautiful 
as here, is an experience long to be remem- 
bered. 

The lovely little town of St. Tropez sleeps 
its life away on the shores of this beautiful 
bay, quite in idyllic fashion, though it does 
boast of a Tribunal de Peche and of a few small 
craft floating in the gentle ripples of the darse, 
the little harbour enclosed by moles of masonry 
from the open gulf. 

Up and down this basin are groups of fine 
parti-coloured houses, all with a certain well- 
kept and prosperous air, with nothing of the 
sordid or base aspect about them, such as one 
sees on so many watersides. A little square, 
or place, forms an unusual note of life and 
colour with its central statue of the great sailor, 
Suffren. 

Only on this square and on the quays are 
there any of the modern attributes of twentieth- 
century life; the narrow but cleanly streets 
away from the waterside are as calm and som- 



St. Tropez and Its '' Golfe '' 257 

nolent as they were before the advent of elec- 
tricity and automobiles ; indeed, an automobile 
would have a hard time of it in some of these 
narrow ruelles. 

The near-by panorama seen from the quays, 
or the end of the stone pier-head, is superb. 
The whole contour of the Golfe is a marvel of 
graceful curves, backed up with sloping, well- 
wooded hills and, still farther away, by the 
massive black of the Maures, the hill of St. 
Eaphael, and the red and brown tints of the 
Esterel, while still more distant to the north- 
ward, hanging in a soft film of vapour, are the 
peaks of the snowy Alps. 

By following the old side streets, crowded 
with overhanging porches and projecting but- 
tresses, with here and there a garden wall half- 
hiding broad-leafed fig-trees and palms, one 
reaches the Promenade des Lices, a remarkably 
well-placed and appointed promenade, shaded 
with great plane-trees, in strong contrast to 
the occasional pines and laurels. 

St. Tropez 's history is ancient enough to 
please the most blase delver in the things of 
antiquity. It may have been the Gallo-Grec 
Athenopolis, or it may have been the PhcEui- 
cian Heraclea Caccabaria; but, at all events, 
its present growth came from a foundation 



258 Rambles on the Riviera 

wliich followed close upon the death of the 
martyr St. Tropez in the second century* 

St. Tropez, in the days when sailing-ships 
had the seas to themselves, was possessed of a 
traffic and a commerce which, with the advent 
of the building of great steamships, lapsed 
into inconsequential proportions. The yards 
where the wooden ships were built and fitted 
out are deserted, and a part of the population 
has gone back to the land or taken to fishing; 
others — the young men — becoming gargons 
de cafe or valets de chambre in the great tour- 
ist hotels of the coast ; or, rather, they did look 
upon these occupations as a bright and rosy 
future, until the coming of the automobile, 
since when the peasant youth of France as- 
pires to be a chauffeur or mecanicien. 

A new industry has recently sprung up at 
St. Tropez, the manufacture of electric cables, 
but it has not the picturesqueness, nor has it 
as yet reached anything like the proportions, 
of the old hempen cordage industry. 

St. Tropez possesses its wonderful Golfe, 
its gardens, and its " Petite Afrique/' and is 
more and more visited by Eiviera tourists ; but 
it still awaits that great tide of traffic which 
has made more famous and rich many other less 
favoured Mediterranean coast towns. There is 







CO 






s 
^ 



St. Tropez and Its " Golfe " 259 

a reason for all this; principally that it faces 
the mistral's icy breath, for the coast-line has 
here taken a bend and the Golfe runs inland 
in a westerly direction, which makes the town 
face directly north. As an offset to this the 
inhabitant points out to you that you may re- 
gard the sea without being troubled by the sun 
shining in your eyes. 

At the head of the Golfe is La Foux. It sits 
in the midst of a sandy plain, surrounded by 
a border of superb umbrella-pines. The chief 
attraction for the visitor is the remarkable 
specimens of the little horses of Les Maures 
to be seen here. They are known as " les 
Eygues/' and have preserved all the purity of 
the type first brought from the Orient by the 
Saracens. Six centuries and more have not 
wiped out the Arab strain to anything like the 
extent that might be supposed, and accordingly 
the little horses of Les Maures are vastly more 
docile and agreeable playmates than the '' pe- 
tit s chevaux " of the Casinos of Monte Carlo 
and Nice. 

The umbrella or parasol pines of La Foux 
are famous throughout the whole Riviera. 
Elsewhere there are isolated examples, but here 
there are groves of them, all branching with 
a wide-spreading luxuriance which is quite at 



260 Rambles on the Riviera 

its best. It might seem as though they were 
planted by the hand of man, so decorative are 
they to the landscape from any point of view, 
but most of them are of an age that precludes 
all thought of this. 

The giant of its race is directly on the bank 
of the Golfe, near the Chateau de Berteaux. Its 
branches extend out in every direction, like the 
ribs of a parasol or umbrella, and its trunk is 
thirty feet or more in circumference, while the 
shadow from its overhanging branches makes 
a great round oasis of shade in the brilliant 
Mediterranean sunlight. The tree and its posi- 
tion cannot be mistaken by travellers by road 
or rail, for the railway itself has a '' halte '' 
almost beneath its branches. All around these 
parasol-pines push themselves up through the 
sand which has been carried down into the 
headwaters of the Golfe by the Mole and the 
Giscle, torrents which at certain seasons bring 
down a vast alluvial deposit from the upper 
valleys of Les Maures. 

It is not far from La Foux to the plain of 
Cogolin. A league or more behind one of the 
first buttresses of Les Maures, one enters the 
rich alluvial prairie of Cogolin, Sheep, goats, 
and cows, and the Arabian-blooded horses, 
which are so much admired at the courses at 



St. Tropez and Its '' Golfe '^ 261 

La Foux, iind welcome pasture here in these 
verdant fields. 

Cogolin is not the capital of the Golfe coun- 
try, that honour belonging to Grimaud, of which 
St. Tropez is virtually the port; still, Cogolin 
is quite a little metropolis, and is the centre 
of the liveliest happenings of all the region be- 
tween Hyeres and Frejus. The town has two 
different aspects, one banal and modern, and 
the other picturesque and feudal, recalling the 
thirteenth-century days of the Grimaldis, who 
built the chateau of which the present belfry 
formed a part. 

Cogolin is uninteresting enough in its newer 
parts, but as one ascends the slope of the hill 
on which the town is built it grows more and 
more picturesque until, when the lower town 
is actually lost sight of, it finally takes rank 
as a delightful old-world place, with scarce a 
note of the twentieth century about it, where 
they still bring water from the public fountain 
and most of the shops of the smaller kind trans- 
act their business on the sidewalk — where 
there is one. 

There is a peculiar odour all over Cogolin, 
which comes from the manufacture of corks 
and queer-looking ^' whisk-brooms." It's not a 
bad or unhealthful smell, but it is peculiar, and 



262 Rambles on the Riviera 

many will not like it. From Cogolin all roads 
lead to the heart of the Maures, and the stream 
of carts loaded with great slabs of cork is in- 
cessant. 

Here, as in many other parts of Les Maures, 
the manufacture of corks is an industry which 
furnishes a livelihood to many. The work- 
rooms of the cork-makers, to attract clients or 
amuse the populace — the writer doesn't know 
which — are often in full view from the street. 
Certainly it is amusing to see a workman stamp 
out, or cut out, the corks and drop them into 
a waiting basket, as if they were plums gath- 
ered from a tree. In the larger establishments, 
where the work is done by machinery, the pro- 
cess is more complicated, and less interesting, 
and the writer did not see that any better re- 
sults were obtained. 

The whole region of Les Maures is domi- 
nated by the chene-liege, or the cork-oak. Usu- 
ally they are great, straight-trunked trees with 
a heavy foliage. Some still possess their nat- 
ural brown trunks, and some are a gray fawn 
colour, showing that they are already aged and 
have been many times robbed of their bark for 
the manufacture of floats for the fisherman's 
nets and corks for bottles. The first coat which 
is stripped has no mercantile value, and the 



St. Tropez and Its '' Golfe >> 263 

trunk is left to heal itself as best it may, the 
sap oozing out and forming another skin, which 
in due time forms the cork-bark of commerce. 

The trees are stripped only in part at one 
time, else they would perish. The first market- 
able crop is gathered in ten or a dozen years, 
and it takes another decade before the same 
portion can be again obtained. 

This cork-bark industry means a fortune to 
Les Maures and its rather scanty population. 
The discovery, or real development, of the in- 
dustry was due to a lonesome shepherd, who, 
finding how soft and compressible the bark of 
the chene-liege really was, manufactured a few 
corks to pass the time while watching his flocks, 
taking them at the first opportunity to town, 
to see if he could find a market, which, need- 
less to say, he did immediately. The account 
has something of a legendary flavour about it, 
but no doubt the discovery was made in just 
such a way. 

Cogolin has another industry which, in its 
way, is considerable, — the manufacture of 
briar pipes, though mostly it is the gathering 
of the briar-roots which makes the industry, 
the actual fashioning of the pipes themselves 
being carried on most extensively at St. Claude 
in the Jura, to which point many train-loads 



264 Rambles on the Riviera 

of the roots are sent each year. Just why the 
industry should be carried on so far from the 
source of supply of the raw material is one of 
the problems that economists are trying always 
to solve, but the traffic clings tenaciously to 
the customs of old. When Les Maures goes 
in for the manufacture of briar pipes on a large 
scale there will be a new and increased pros- 
perity for the inhabitants ; this in spite of the 
growing consumption of the deadly cigarette, 
which, in France, is made of something which 
looks amazingly like cabbage-stalk — and a 
poor quality at that. The contempt for French 
tobacco is of long duration. It is recalled that 
a certain minister under Charles X. was in- 
vited to smoke smuggled tobacco at a friend's 
house, and was implored to use his influence 
to the substituting of the same grade of tobacco 
for the poisonous cabbage-leaf then grown in 
France. His reply was appreciative but non- 
committal, and so the thing has gone on to this 
day, and the French public smokes uncomplain- 
ingly a very ordinary tobacco. 

Three kilometres distant sits Grimaud, snug 
and serene on the terrace of a mountainside, 
overlooking Cogolin and the Golfe, and all its 
environment. The little town has all the char- 
acteristics of its neighbours, with perhaps a 



St. Tropez and Its '' Golfe >> 265 

superabundance of shade-trees for a place 
which has not very ample streets and squares. 
At the apex of the ascending ruelles is a cone 
which is surmounted by the pathetic ruins of 
the old chateau of the Grimaldi. Without 
grandeur and without life, this chateau is in 
strong contrast with the palace of the present 
members of the ancient house of Grimaldi, the 
Prince of Monaco and his family. 

The ruins of Grimaud's chateau are, to be 
sure, a whited sepulchre, and a dismal one, but 
the view from the platform is one of great 
beauty. Les Maures forms an encircling cor- 
don, through which the brilliance of the Golfe 
breaks toward the south. In the twilight of an 
early June evening the effect will be surprising 
and grateful in its quiet grandeur; a welcome 
change after the refulgence of the Alpine glow 
of Switzerland and the gorgeous, bloody sun- 
sets of the Mediterranean coast towns. 

After a meditation here, one will be in the 
proper mood for the repose which awaits him 
at '' Annibal's " in the town below. It is not 
grand, this little hotel of M. Annibal, but it 
is typical of the pays, and you, as likely as 
not, ate your dinner on a little balcony over- 
looking a little tree-bordered place, which has 
already put you in a soulful mood. When you 



266 Rambles on the Riviera 

return from the chateau, you will need no 
sedative to make you sleep, and you will bless 
the good fortune which brought you thither — 
if you are a true vagabond and not a devotee 
of the '' resorts." The latter class are ad- 
vised to keep away; Grimaud would " bore 
them stiff," as a strenuous American, who was 
* * doing ' ' the Riviera on a motor-cycle, told the 
writer. 

La Garde-Freinet next calls one, and it must 
not be ignored by any who would know what 
a real mountain town in France is like. It is 
different from what it is in Switzerland or the 
Tyrol ; in fact, it is not like anything anywhere 
else. It is simply a distinctively French small 
town nestling in the heart of the Mediterra- 
nean coast range, and cut off from most of the 
distractions of civilization, except newspapers 
(twenty-four hours old) and the post and tele- 
graph. 

La Garde-Freinet sits almost upon the very 
crest of the Chaine des Maures. The road 
from Grimaud, which is but a dozen kilometres 
or so, rises constantly through rocky escarp- 
ments like a route in Corsica, which indeed the 
whole region of Les Maures resembles. 

All is solitude and of that quietness which 
one only observes on a lonely mountain road, 



St Tropez and Its '' Golfe >' 267 

while all around is a girdle of tree-clad peaks, 
not gigantic, perhaps, but sufficiently imposing 
to give one the impression that the road is 
mounting steadily all of the way, which, even 
in these days of hill-climbing automobiles, is 
something which is bound to be remarked by 
the traveller by road. 

Finally one comes in sight of the old Saracen 
fortress of Fraxinet, or Freinet, from which 
the present town of something less than two 
thousand souls takes its name. It stands out 
in the clear brilliance of the Provengal sky, 
as if one might reach out his hand and touch 
its walls, though it is a hundred or more metres 
above the town, which finally one reaches 
through the usual narrow entrance possessed by 
most French towns whether they are of the 
mountain or the plain. 

It was from just such fortified heights as 
this that the Saracens were able to command 
all Provence and the valley of the Ehone up 
to the Jura. Concerning these far-away times, 
and the exact movements of the Saracens, his- 
torians are not very precise, and a good deal 
has to be taken on faith ; but where monuments 
were left behind to tell the story, albeit they 
were mostly fortresses, enough has come down 
to allow one to build up a fabric which will 



268 Rambles on the Riviera 

give a more or less just view of the extent 
of the Saracen influence which swept over 
southern Gaul from the eighth to the tenth 
centuries. 

They made one of their greatest strongholds 
here on the Pic du Fraxinet (" the place 
planted with frenes "), and, in spite of the 
fact that they were sooner or later driven from 
their position, as history does tell in this case, 
their descendants, becoming Christians, were 
the ancestors of the present growers of mul- 
berry-trees and cork-oaks, and tenders of silk- 
worms, which form the principal occupations of 
the inhabitants of La Grarde-Freinet to-day. 

Any one, with the least eye for the fair sex, 
will note the fact that the women of La Garde- 
Freinet — the Fraxinetaines of the ethnologists 
— have a unique kind of beauty greatly to be 
admired. They are not as beautiful as the 
women of Aries, to whom the palm must al- 
ways be given among the women of France; 
but they are well-formed, with beautiful hair, 
great, liquid black eyes, oval faces, and plump, 
well-formed arms, justifying, even to-day, the 
beauty which they are supposed to have ac- 
quired from their Moorish ancestors. 

There are no monuments at La Garde-Frei- 
net except the ruined, dominant fortress, but 



St. Tropez and Its '' Golfe " 269 

for all that the pilgrimage is one worth the 
making, if only for glimpses of those wonder- 
fully beautiful women, or for the delightful 
journey thither. 

From La Foux and Grimaud one rapidly 
advances toward the Esterel, that sheltering 
range of reddish, rocky mountains which makes 
Cannes and La Napoule what they are. 

St. Tropez and its tall white houses are left 
behind, and the shores of the Golfe are fol- 
lowed until one comes to the most ancient town 
of Ste. Maxime. Unlike St. Tropez, Ste. Max- 
ime, though only thirty minutes away by boat, 
across the mouth of the Golfe, has not the 
penetrating mistral for a scourge. On the 
other hand one does get the sun in his eyes 
when he wishes to view the sea, and has not 
that magically coloured curtain of the Esterel, 
with all its varied reds and browns, before his 
eyes. One cannot have everything as he wishes, 
even on the Riviera. If he has the view, he 
often has also the mistral; and, if he finds a 
place that is really sheltered from the mistral, 
it has a more or less restricted view, and a cli- 
mate which the doctors and invalids call " re- 
laxing," whatever that arbitrary term may 
mean. 

Here in the Golfe de St. Tropez, at St. Tro- 



270 Rambles on the Riviera 

pez, at La Foux, and at Ste. Maxime, one sees 
again those great tartanes and balancelles, the 
great white-winged craft which fly about the 
Mediterranean coasts of France with all the 
idyllic picturesqueness of old. 

There are still twenty kilometres before one 
reaches Frejus, the first town of real latter- 
day importance since passing Toulon, and this, 
too, in spite of its great antiquity. Other of 
the coast towns have risen or degenerated into 
mere resorts, but Frejus holds its own as the 
centre of affairs for a very considerable region. 



CHAPTER VI. 

FKEJUS AND THE COENICHE d'OB 

Twenty kilometres beyond Ste. Maxime one 
comes to the Golfe de Frejus and its neighbour- 
ing towns of Frejus and St. Raphael, the 
former the ville commergant and the latter the 
ville d'eau. 

As with Aries, on the banks of the Rhone, 
one may well say of Frejus that the town and 
its environs form a veritable open-air museum. 
It will be true to add also, in this case, that the 
museum has a far greater area than at Aries, 
for Frejus, and the antiquities directly con- 
nected with it, cover a radius of at least forty 
kilometres. 

The Romans, the great builders of baths and 
aqueducts, set a great store by water, and in- 
deed classed it as among the greatest blessings 
of mankind. No labour was too great, and 
expense was never thought of, when it came to 
a question of building these great artificial 
waterways which, even unto to-day, are known 
as aqueducts the world over. One of their 

271 



272 Rambles on the Riviera 

greatest works of the kind led to Frejus, and 
two of its arches stand gaunt and grim to-day 
in the midst of a fence-paled field. There is 
also a sign attached to one of the fence-posts 
which reads as follows: 



DEFENSE AB80LUE 
DE PENETRER 

DANS LE propri:^t:^ 



This sign-board does not look as durable as 
the moss-grown old arches over which it stands 
sentinel; perhaps some day the stress of time 
(or some other reason) will cause it to disap- 
pear. 

The remains of this great aqueduct of other 
days prove conclusively the great regard and 
hope which the Romans must have had for the 
Forum Julii of Julius Caesar, for all, without 
question, attribute the foundation of Frejus 
to the conqueror of the Gauls. 

The evolution of the name of Frejus is read- 
ily enough followed, though the present name, 
coming down through Forojuliens and Fre- 
jules, is a sad corruption. Of this evolution the 
authorities are not very certain, and call it 
" une tradition et non un fait Mstoriquement 
prouve." It is satisfying enough to most, how- 



Frejus and the Corniche d'Or 273 

ever, so let it stand; and anyway we have the 
words of Tacitus, who said that his brother- 
in-law, Agricola, was born at '' the ancient and 
illustrious colony of Forojuliens." 

Frejus is prolific in quaint customs and 
legends too numerous to mention, though two, 
at least, stand out so plainly in the memory 
of the writer that they are here recounted. 

On a certain occasion in August, — not the 
usual season for tourists, but genuine travel- 
lovers, having no season, go anywhere at any 
time, — as the town was entered by the high- 
road, our automobile was abruptly stopped at 
the bar Here by a motley crew clad in all manner 
of military costumes, like the armies of the 
South American republics. Firearms, too, 
were there, and when a grenadier of the time 
of Louis-Philippe let off a smoky charge of 
gunpowder under our very noses, it was a sig- 
nal for a general feu-de-joie which might have 
rivalled a Fourth of July celebration in the 
United States, for the disaster which it bid fair 
to bring in its wake. As a matter of fact, noth- 
ing happened, and we were allowed to proceed 
in peace, though the sleep-destroying cannon- 
ade was kept up throughout the night. 

The occasion was nothing but the annual 
celebration of '^ Les Bravadeurs," a survival 



274 Rambles on the Riviera 

of the days of Louis XIV., wlien the town, being 
left without a garrison, raised a motley army 
of its own to serve in place of the troops of 
the king. 

There is a legend, too, concerning the land- 
ing of St. Francois de Paule here, which the 
native is fond of telling the stranger, but which 
needs something more than the proverbial 
grain of salt to go with it, because St. Frangois 
is claimed to have first put foot on shore at 
various other points along the coast. 

The story is to the effect that the ship which 
bore the holy man from the East having foun- 
dered, or not having been sufficiently sea- 
worthy to continue the voyage, St. Frangois 
stepped overboard and walked ashore on the 
waves. He did not walk on the waves them- 
selves in this case, but laid his mantle upon 
them and walked on that. What he did when 
he came to the edge of his mantle tradition 
does not state. 

The ecclesiastical and political history of 
Frejus is most interesting, though it cannot be 
epitomized here. Two significant Napoleonic 
events of the early nineteenth century stand 
out so strongly, however, that they perforce 
must be mentioned. 

In 1809 Pope Pius VII. stopped at Frejus 



Frejus and the Corniche d'Or 275 

when he was making his way to Fontainebleau, 
more or less unwillingly, as history tells. Five 
years later the Holy Father again stopped at 
Frejus on his return to Italy, and Napoleon 
himself, on the 27th of the following April, 
awaiting the moment of his departure for Elba, 
occupied the very apartment that had received 
the pontiff. 

Of the architectural and historical monu- 
ments of Frejus one must at least take cogni- 
zance of the Baptistery, one of the few of its 
class out of Italy and dating from some period 
previous to the tenth century. Architecturally 
it is not a great structure, neither is it such 
in size; but its very existence here, well over 
into Gaul, marks a distinct era in the Chris- 
tianizing and church-building efforts of those 
early times. The cathedral at Frejus is by no 
means of equal archaeological importance to 
this tiny Baptistery, though the bishopric it- 
self was founded as early as the fourth cen- 
tury, and at least one of its early bishops be- 
came a Pope (Jean XXII., 1316-34). 

Here, there, and everywhere around the en- 
circling avenues of the town are to be seen the 
remains of the old city walls, which in later 
years, even in the middle ages, sunk more and 
more into disuse, from the fact that the city 



276 Rambles on the Riviera 

has continually dwindled in size, until to-day 
it covers only about one-fifth of its former area. 

The old aqueduct of Frejus, a relic of Eoman 
days and Roman ways, is the chief monumental 
wonder of the neighbourhood. It has long been 
in a ruinous state of disuse, though its decay 
is merely that incident to time, for it was mar- 
vellously well built of small stones without or- 
nament of any kind. 

At Frejus there are also remains of a Roman 
theatre, now nothing more than a mass of 
debris, though one easily traces its diameter 
as having been something approaching two 
hundred feet. 

The arena of Frejus is in quite as dismantled 
a state as the theatre, one of the principal road- 
ways now passing through its centre, so that 
to-day the monument is hardly more than a 
great open Place at the crossing of four roads. 
From the grandeur of the structure, as it must 
once have been, it is a monument comparable 
in many ways with those better preserved and 
more magnificent arenas at Aries and Nimes. 

From this resume of some of the chief monu- 
ments of the Roman occupation one gathers 
that Frejus was carefully planned as a great 
city of residence and pleasure ; and so it really 
was, with the added importance which its posi- 



Frejus and the Comiche d'Or 277 




278 Rambles on the Riviera 

tion, both with regard to the routes by sea and 
land, gave to it in a commercial sense. 

From Frejus to St. Eaphael is a bare three 
kilometres. St. Raphael boasts as many inhab- 
itants as Frejus, but it is mostly a city of pleas- 
ure, and has no monuments of a past age to 
suggest that even a reflected glory from Frejus 
ever shone over its site. To-day the plain 
which lies between the two towns is dotted here 
and there with palatial residences: " C'est 
tout palais," the native tells you, and he is not 
far wrong, but in a former day it was a broad 
bay, where floated the galleys of Caesar and 
Augustus. 

There was some sort of a feudal town here 
in the middle ages, but it never grew to his- 
torical or artistic importance, and the town was 
little known until the advent of Alphonse Karr 
and his fellows, who made of it, or at least 
intimated that it could be made, what it is to- 
day, — a ' ' winter resort, ' ' or, as the French 
have it, a '' station hivernale." It is a very 
simple expression, but one which leads to a cer- 
tain amount of misunderstanding among the 
newcomers, who think that they have only to 
take up their residence, from November to 
March, anywhere along the shores of the Medi- 
terranean east of Marseilles to swelter in trop- 




Co 



Frejus and the Corniche d'Or 279 

ical sunshine. This they will not do, and un- 
less they keep indoors between five and seven 
in the evening on most days, they will get a 
chill which will not only go to the marrow, but 
as like as not will carry pneumonia with it; 
that is, if one dresses in what are commonly 
called " summer clothes," the kind that are 
pictured in the posters which decorate the dull 
walls of the railway stations as being suitable 
for the life of the Riviera. 

St. Raphael is not wholly given up to pleas- 
ure, for it is a notable fact that in industrial 
enterprise it has already surpassed Frejus, 
due principally to a vast traffic in bauxite, a 
clay from which aluminium is obtained, and 
there are always at its quays steamers from 
England, Germany, and Holland loading the 
reddish earth. 

Nevertheless, St. Raphael is in the main a 
city of villas, less pretentious than those of 
Cannes, but still villas in the general meaning 
of the word. There is one called locally (in 
Provengal) the ^' Oustalet du Capelan " (The 
House of the Cure), which was a long time 
occupied by Gounod. Lovers of the master and 
his works will make of it a musical shrine and 
place of pilgrimage. An inscription over the 



280 



Rambles on the Riviera 



door recalls that in this house Gounod com- 
posed *' Romeo et Juliette." 

The Maison Close, inhabited by Alphonse 
Karr, is literally a maison close, for it is sur- 
rounded by a high wall, and the most that one 




Maison Close, St. Raphael 

can see and admire is the suggestion of the 
wonderful garden behind. In Karr's time it 
must have been a highly satisfactory retreat, 
and no wonder he found it not difficult to let 
the rush of the world go by with unconcern. 
Hamon, the landscape painter, was another 



Frejus and the Corniche d'Or 281 

devotee of St. Raphael, and he described it as 
" la campagne de Rome au fond du Golfe du 
Naples; " it needs not a great stretch of the 
imagination to follow the simile. 

In spite of the expectations of a former gen- 
eration of landlords and landowners, St. Ra- 
phael, progressive as it has been, has never 
grown up on the lines upon which it was 
planned. The grand boulevards and avenues 
came as a matter of course, and the great 
hotels, and, ultimately, the inevitable casino 
and its attendant attractions ; but, nevertheless, 
St. Raphael has remained a ville des villas, and 
the population has mostly gone to the suburban 
hillsides, especially around Valesclure, where 
new houses are springing up like mushrooms, 
all built of that white sandstone which flashes 
so brilliantly in the sunlight against the back- 
ground of the green-clad, reddish-brown Este- 
rel. 

The Esterel is a coast range of mountains as 
different from Les Maures, their neighbour to 
the westward, as could possibly be, in colour, 
in outline, and in climatic influences, and these 
to no little extent have a decided effect on the 
manners and customs of the people who live 
in the neighbourhood. 

The contrast between the mountains of Les 



282 . Rambles on the Riviera 

Maures and the Esterel is most marked. The 
former are more sober and less accentuated 
than the latter range, and there is more of the 
culture of the olive to be noted in the valleys, 
and of the oak on the hillsides. In the Esterel 
all is brilliant, with a colouring that is more 
nearly a deep rosy red than that of any other 
rock formation to be seen in France. Coupled 
with the blue of the Mediterranean, the red- 
dish rocks, the green hillsides, and the delicate 
skies make as fantastic a colour-scheme as was 
ever conceived by the artist's brush. 

The Route d 'Italic passes to the north of the 
Esterel crest, and is one of those remarkable 
series of roadways which cross and recross 
France, and may be considered the direct de- 
scendants of the military roads laid out by the 
Romans, and developed and perfected by Na- 
poleon. To-day a generously endowed depart- 
ment of the French government tenderly cares 
for them, with the result that the roads of 
France have become one of the most precious 
possessions of the nation. 

Until very recent times the great mountain 
and forest tract of the Esterel had remained 
unknown and untravelled, save so far as the 
railway followed along the coast, and the great 



Frejus and the Corniche d'Or 283 

Eoute d'ltalie bounded it on the north, or at 
least bounded the mountain slopes. 

All this has recently been changed, and, 
where once were only narrow foot-paths and 
roads, made use of by the shepherds and peas- 
ants, there are a broad and elegant highway 
flanking the indentations of the coast-line, and 
many interior routes crossing and recrossing 
one of the most lovely and unspoiled wild- 
woods still to be seen in France. There are 
other parts much more wild, the Cevennes or 
the Vivarais, for instance; but they have not 
a tithe of the grandeur and beauty of the red 
porphyry rocks of the Esterel combined with 
the blue waters of the Mediterranean and the 
forest-covered flanks of its mountain range. 

From Frejus, St. Eaphael, or La Napoule, 
or even Cannes, one may enter the Esterel and 
lose himself to the world, if he likes, for a mat- 
ter of a week, or ten days, or a fortnight, and 
never so much as have a suspicion of the con- 
ventional Eiviera gaieties which are going on 
so close at hand. 

The '' Corniche d'Or " of the Esterel, as the 
coast road is known, was only completed in 
1893, and as a piece of modern roadway-mak- 
ing is the peer of any of its class elsewhere. 
The record of its building, and the public- 



284 Eambles on the Riviera 

spirited assistance which was given the project 
on all sides, would, or should, put to shame 
those road-building organizations of England 
and America which for the most part have 
aided the good-roads movement with merely 
an unlimited supply of talk about what was 
going to be done. 

As a roadway of scenic surprises the '' Cor- 
niche d'Or " of the Esterel is the peer of the 
better known rival beyond Nice, though it has 
nothing to excel that superb half-dozen kilo- 
metres just before, and after, Monte Carlo and 
Monaco. 

The interior route of the Esterel, the Route 
d'ltalie, mounts to an altitude of three hun- 
dred metres, while the " Corniche " is prac- 
tically level, with no hills which would tire the 
least muscular cyclist or the weakest-powered 
automobile. 

Since the beginning of the transformation of 
the Esterel two hundred and forty kilometres 
of new roadways have been laid out. After 
this great work was finished came the question 
of erecting sign-boards along the various routes 
and chemins and carrefours and bifurcations, 
and the work was not treated in a parsimonious 
fashion. "Within the first year of the comple- 
tion of the road-building over two hundred im- 




On the Corniche d^Or 



Frejus and the Corniche d'Or 285 

portant and legible signs were erected by the 
efforts of a wealthy resident of St. Eaphael, 
with the result that the value of the Esterel 
as a great " pare nationale " became apparent 
to many who had previously never even heard 
of it. 

This delightful tract of unspoiled wildwood 
is bounded on the north by the Eoute d 'Italic, 
while the ingeniously planned ' ' Corniche ' ' fol- 
lows the coast-line all the way to Cannes, which 
is really the door by which one enters the Rivi- 
era of the guide-books and the winter tourists. 

The ^' Corniche d'Or," its inception and con- 
struction, was really due to the efforts of the 
omnific '^ Touring Club de France." For- 
merly the way by the coast was but a narrow 
track, or a '^ Sentier de Douane. To-day it is 
an ample roadway along its whole length, on 
which one has little fear of speeding automo- 
biles for the simple reason that the jutting 
capes and promontories of porphyry rock are 
death-dealing in their abruptness and fre- 
quency, and no automobilist who is sane — let 
it be here emphasized — takes such dangerous 
risks. 

The forest and mountain region of the Este-- 
rel between those two encircling strips of road- 
way is possessed of a wonderful fascination 



286 Rambles on the Riviera 

for those who are brain-fagged or town-tired; 
and to roam, even on foot, along these by- 
paths for a few days will give a whole new 
view of life to any who are disposed to try 
it. If one purchases the excellent map of the 
region issued by the ^' Touring Club de 
France," or even the five-colour map of the 
*' Service Vicinal " of the French government, 
he will have no fear of losing his way anaong 
the myriads of paths and roadways with which 
the whole region is threaded. 

One first enters the ' ' Route de la Corniche ' ' 
by leaving St. Raphael by way of the newly 
opened Boulevard du Touring Club, and soon 
passes two great projecting rocks known as 
the ' * Lion de Terre ' ' and the ' ' Lion de Mer. ' ' 
They do not look in the least like lions, — nat- 
ural curiosities seldom do look like what they 
are named for, — but they will be recognizable 
nevertheless. Throughout its length the road 
follows the shore so closely that the sea is 
always in sight. 

Boulouris is a sort of imlovely but pictur- 
esque suburb of St. Raphael, and from its far- 
ther boundary one is in full view of the ' ^ Sema- 
phore d'Agay," perched high on a promontory 
a hundred and forty metres above the sea. The 
Semaphore is an ugly but utilitarian thing, and 



Frejus and the Corniche d'Or 287 

the wireless telegraph has not as yet supplanted 
its functions in France. 

From the same spot one sees the Tour du 
Dramont, a one-time refuge of Jeanne de Pro- 
vence during a revolution among her sub- 
jects. 

In following the road one does not come to 
a town or indeed a settlement of any notable 
size until he reaches Agay, on the other side 
of the promontory. The town lies at the mouth 
of a tiny river bearing the same name. It 
makes some pretence at being a resort, but it 
is still a diminutive one, and, accordingly, all 
the more attractive to the world-wearied trav- 
eller. 

Three routes lead from Agay, one to Cannes 
by Les Trois Termes (twenty-nine kilometres), 
another by the Col de Belle Barbe, and another 
directly by the '* Corniche." 

Near the Col de Belle Barbe is the Oratoire 
de St. Honorat and the Grotte de Ste. Baume. 
The latter is a place of pilgrimage for the de- 
vout of the region, and for those from farther 
abroad, but most of the time it is a mere ren- 
dezvous for curious sightseers. 

The roadway continues rising and falling 
through the pines until it crosses the Col Le- 
veque (169 metres), when, rounding the Pic 



288 Rambles on the Riviera 

d'Aurele, it comes again to sea-level at Le 
Trayas. 

From Agay the '' Corniche " runs also by 
Le Trayas, and to roll over its smoothly made 
surface in a swift-moving automobile is the very 
poetry of motion, or as near thereto as we are 
likely to get until we adopt the flying-machine 
for regular travel. It is an experience that 
no one should miss, even if he has to hire a 
seat on the automobile omnibus which fre- 
quently runs between St. Eaphael and La Na- 
poule and Cannes. 

It is twenty kilometres from Agay to La 
Napoule, and is a good afternoon's journey by 
carriage, or even on donkey-back. Better yet, 
one should walk, if he feels equal to it, and 
has the time at his disposal. 

En route one passes Antheore, which may 
best be described as a colony of artistic and 
literary people who have settled here for the 
quiet and change from the bustle of the mod- 
ern life of the towns. This was the case at 
least when the settlement was founded, and 
the poet Brieux built himself a house and put 
up over the gateway the significant words: 
'' Je suis venu ici pour etre seul." Wliether 
he was able to carry out this wish is best 
judged by the fact that since that time many 



Frejus and the Corniche d'Or 289 

outsiders have gained a foothold, and the Grand 
Hotel de la Corniche d'Or has come to break 
the solitude with balls and bridge and all the 
distractions of the more celebrated Eiviera 
towns and cities. 

Between Antheore and Le Trayas is a narrow 
pathway which mounts to St. Barthelemy, but 
the coast road still continues its delightful 
course toward La Napoule. 

Le Trayas, though it figures in the railway 
time-tables, is hardly more than a hamlet ; but 
it boasts proudly of a hotel and a group of 
villas. It has not yet become spoiled in spite 
of this, and though it lacks the picturesque 
local colour of the average Mediterranean 
coast town, and almost altogether the distrac- 
tions of the great resorts, it is worth the vis- 
iting, if only for its charming situation. 

The Departement of the Var joins that of the 
Alpes-Maritimes just beyond, and, at three 
kilometres farther on, the coast road rises to 
its greatest height, a trifle over a hundred 
metres. 

Before one comes to La Napoule he passes 
the progressive, hard-pushing little resort of 
Theoule, so altogether delightful from every 
point of view that one can but wish that winter 
tourists had never heard of it. This was not 



290 Rambles on the Riviera 

to be, however, and Theoule is doing its utmost 
to become both a winter and a summer resort, 
with many of the qualifications of both. It is 
deliciously situated on the Golfe de la Napoule, 
or, rather, on a little anse or bay thereof, and 
consists of perhaps a hundred houses of all 
classes, most of which rejoice in the name of 
Villa Something-or-other. Most of these villas 
are well hidden by the trees, and their coquette 
architecture (on the order of a Swiss chalet, 
but stuccoed here and there and with bits of 
coloured glass stuck into the gables, — and 
perhaps a plaster cat on the ridge-pole) is not 
so obtrusive as it might otherwise be. 

Leaving Theoule, the coast road continues to 
La Napoule, but, properly speaking, the ^' Cor- 
niche " ends at Theoule. Throughout its whole 
length it is a wonderfully varied and attractive 
route to the popular Eiviera towns, and one 
could hardly do better, if he has journeyed 
from the north by train, than to leave the cars 
at Frejus or St. Raphael and make the journey 
eastward via the Corniche d'Or. If he does 
this, as likely as not he will find some delight- 
ful beauty-spot which will appeal to him as 
far more attractive than a Cannes or Nice 
boarding-house, where the gossip is the same 



Frejus and the Corniche d'Or 291 

sort of thing that one gets in Bloomsbury or 
on Beacon Hill. The thing is decidedly worth 
the trying, and the suggestion is here given 
for what it may be worth to the reader. 



CHAPTER VII. 

LA NAPOULE AND CANNES 

La Napoule is known chiefly to those birds 
of passage who annually hibernate at Cannes 
as the end of a six-mile constitutional which 
the doctors advise their patients to take as an 
antidote to overfeeding and " tea-fights." In 
reality it is much more than this; it is one of 
the most charmingly situated of all the Riviera 
coast towns, and has a history which dates 
back to a fourteenth-century fortress, built by 
the Comte de Villeneuve, a tower of which 
stands to-day as a part of the more modern 
chateau which rises back of the town. 

French residents on the Riviera have a pop- 
ular tradition that Lord Brougham originally 
made overtures to the municipality of Frejus 
when he was seeking to found an English col- 
ony on the Riviera. Whatever his advances 
may have been, they were promptly spurned by 
the town, and England's chancellor forthwith 
turned his steps toward Italy, whither he had 

292 



La Napoule and Cannes 293 

originally been bound. Suddenly he came upon 
the ravishing outlook over the Golfe de la 
Napoule, and the charms of this lovely spot 
so impressed him that he fell a prey to their 
winsomeness forthwith and decided that if he 
could find a place where the inhabitants were 
at all in favour of a peaceful English inva- 
sion, he would throw the weight of his influ- 
ence in their favour. He travelled the country 
up and down and threaded the highways and 
byways for a distance of fifty kilometres in 
every direction until finally he decided that 
Cannes, on the opposite side of the Golfe, 
should have his approval. Thus the Riviera, 
as it is known by name to countless thousands 
to-day, was born as a popular English resort, 
and soon Cannes became the '' ville elegante," 
replacing the little '' bourg de peche " oi a 
former day. 

The road eastward from Frejus, the high- 
road which leads from France into Italy, 
passes to the northward of the crests of the 
Ester el range just at the base of Mont Vi- 
naigre, a topographical landmark with which 
the average visitor to Cannes should become 
better acquainted. It is far more severe and 
less gracious than Cap Roux, where the Este- 
rels slope down to the Mediterranean; but it 



294 Rambles on the Riviera 

has many attractions which the latter lacks. 
From the summit of Mont Vinaigre one may 
survey all this remarkable forest and moun- 
tain region, while from Cap Eoux one has as 
remarkable a panorama of sea and shore and 
sky, but of quite a different tonal composition. 

Mont Vinaigre is the culminating peak of the 
Esterel, and is visible from a great distance. 
Its great white observatory tower rises high 
above the neighbouring peaks and, when one 
finally reaches the vantage-ground of the little 
platform which is found at the utmost height, 
he obtains a view which is far more vast in 
effect than many of the '^ grandest views " 
scattered here and there about the world. In 
clear weather the outlook extends from Bordi- 
ghera to Sainte Baume, as if the whole region 
were spread out in a great map. 

Below Mont Vinaigre is Les Adrets and its 
inn, which in days of old was known by all 
travellers to Italy by way of the south of 
France as a post-house, where horses were 
changed and where one could get refreshment 
and rest. To-day the Auberge des Adrets per- 
forms much the same functions for the auto- 
mobilist, and is put down in the automobile 
route-books of France as a ''poste de secours," 
one of those safe havens on land which are as 



La Napoule and Cannes 295 

necessary to the automobilist en tour as is a 
Ufe-saving station to the shipwrecked sailor. 

The inn, modest and lacking in up-to-date 
appointments as it is, has a delightfully wild 
and unspoiled situation, sheltered from the 
north by numerous chestnut and plane-trees, 
and in summer or winter its climatic conditions 
are as likely to fit the varying moods of the 
traveller as any other spot on the Riviera. 
Truly Les Adrets is a retreat far from the mad- 
ding crowd, where an author or an artist might 
produce a masterwork if what he needed was 
only quiet and a change of scene. There are 
no distractions at Les Adrets to break the mo- 
notony of its existence. One may chat with a 
passing automobile tourist, or with one of those 
guardians of the peace of the countryside, the 
gendarmes, — who have barracks near by, — 
but this is the only diversion. 

At the inn itself one finds nothing of luxury. 
One pays two francs for his repasts and a franc 
for his modest room. This is not dear, and has 
the additional advantage that neither one nor 
the other of these requirements of the traveller 
have the least resemblance to the sort of thing 
that one gets in the towns. 

Over the doorway of this unassuming estab- 
lishment one reads the following: ^'ha maison 



296 Rambles on the Riviera 

este rebastie par le Sieur Laugier en 1653; elle 
a ete restauree par Ed. Jourdan, 1898." 

Never is there a throng of people to be seen 
in these parts, and, if one wanders abroad at 
night, he is likely enough to have thoughts of 
the highwaymen of other days. Formerly the 
forests and mountains of the Esterel were in- 
fested with a class of brigands who were by 
no means of the polished villain order which 
one has so frequently seen upon the stage. 
They were not of the Claude Duval class of 
society, but something very akin to what one 
pictures as the Corsican bandit of tradition. 

To-day, however, all is peaceful enough, with 
the Gendarmerie near by, a terror to all wrong- 
doers, and the only reminiscences which one is 
likely to have of the highwaymen of other days 
are such as one gets from an old mountaineer 
or a review of the pages of history and romance, 
where will be found the names of Eobert Ma- 
caire and Gaspard de Besse, two famous, or 
infamous, characters whose names and lives 
were closely connected with this region. It is 
all tranquil enough to-day, and one is no more 
likely to meet with any of these unworthies in 
the Esterel than he is with the ' '■ Flying Dutch- 
man " at sea. 

As one draws near to Cannes, he realizes that 



La Napoule and Cannes 297 

he has left the simplicity of the life of the coun- 
tryside behind him. While still half a dozen 
kilometres away, he sees a sign reading 
'' Cannes Cricket Club," and all is over! No 
more freedom of dress; no more hatless and 
collarless mountain climbs ; but the costume of 
society, of London, Paris, or New York is what 
is expected of one at all times. 

Cannes is truly " aristocratic villadom," or 
" sejour aristocratique et recherche," as the 
French have it, with all that the term implies. 
Consequently Cannes is conventional, and the 
real lover of nature — regardless of the town's 
charming situation — will have none of it. 

It is believed that the town grew up from the 
ancient Ligurian city of Aegytna, destroyed by 
Quintus Opimius a hundred and fifty years be- 
fore the beginning of the Christian era. 

If one does not make his entry into Cannes 
by road, direct from the Esterel, he will prob- 
ably come by the way of Le Cannet. Le Cannet 
is itself a sumptuous suburb which in every 
way foretells the luxury which awaits one in 
the parent city by the seashore. 

Three kilometres of palm and plantain bor- 
dered avenue, lined with villas and hotels, joins 
Le Cannet with Cannes. Not long ago the 
suburb was an humble, indifferent village, but 



298 Rambles on the Riviera 

the tide of popularity came that way, and it 
has become transformed. 

The Boulevard Carnot descends from Le 
Cannet to the sea by a long easy slope, and 
again one comes to the blue water of the en- 
chanted Mediterranean. At times, Cannes is 
most lively, — always in a most conventional 
and eminently respectable fashion, — and at 
other times it sleeps the sleep of an emptied 
city, only to awake when the first fogs of No- 
vember descend upon ^' brumeuse Angleterre." 

To tell the truth, Cannes is far more delight- 
ful ' ' out of season, ' ' when its gay, idling popu- 
lation of strangers has disappeared, stolen away 
to the watering-places of the north, there to live 
the same deadly dull existence, made up of 
rounds of tea-drinking and croquet-playing, 
with perhaps an occasional ride in a char-a- 
banc. Probably the millionaire improves some- 
what upon this regime, but there are countless 
thousands who live this very life in European 
watering-places — and think they are enjoying 
themselves. 

Cannes 's off season is of course summer, but, 
considering that it is so delightfully and salu- 
briously situated at the water's edge, and has 
a summer temperature of but 22° Centigrade, 
this is difficult to understand. Certainly Cannes 



La Napoule and Cannes 299 

is more delightful in the winter months than 
" brumeuse Angleterre," but then it is equally 
so in June. 

Not every one in Cannes speaks English ; but 
for a shopkeeper to prosper to the full he should 
do so, and so the local " professors " have a 
busy time of it, in season and out, teaching what 
they call the '^ idiome britannique " and the 
" argot Americaine." 

The shore east and west of the centre of the 
town is flanked with hotels and villas, and great 
properties are yearly being cut up and put 
into the hands of the real-estate agents in order 
that more of the same sort may be erected where 
olive and palm trees formerly grew. 

Horticulture is still a great industry at 
Cannes, as well as the selling of building-lots, 
but the marvel is that there is any unoccupied 
land upon which to raise anything. A dozen 
years from now how will the horticulturalists 
of Cannes be able to grow those decorative little 
orange and palm trees with which Paris and 
Ostend and London and even Manchester hotel 
*' palm-gardens " are embellished? 

Cannes has an ecclesiastical shrine of more 
than ordinary rank, in spite of the fact that 
it is of no great architectural splendour. It 
is the old Basilique de Notre Dame d'Esperance 



300 Rambles on the Riviera 

which crowns the hill back of the town and pos- 
sesses a remarkable reliquary of the fifteenth 
century, said to contain the bones of St. Ho- 
norat, the founder of the famous monastery of 
the Lerin Isles. 

Another monument of the middle ages is the 
ancient '^ Tour Seigneuriale, " erected in 1080 
by Adelbert II., an abbot of the Monastery of 
Lerins. For three hundred years it was in con- 
stant use, serving both as a citadelle and as a 
marine observatory. To-day its functions are 
no more; but, with the tower of the church, 
it does form a sort of a beacon, from offshore, 
for the Cannes boatmen. 

There is a Christmas custom celebrated by 
the fisher-folk of Cannes which is exceedingly 
interesting and which should not be missed if 
one is in these parts at the time. On the eve 
of Christmas there is held a popular banquet, 
in which the sole dish is polenta, most wonder- 
fully made of peas, nuts, herbs, and meal, to- 
gether with boiled codfish, the yolks of eggs, 
and what not, all perfumed with orange essence. 
It's a most temperate sort of an orgy, in all 
except quantity, and, when washed down with 
a local vin hlanc, bears the name, simply, of a 
" gros souper." Brillat-Savarin might have 
done things differently, but the dish sounds as 



La Napoule and Cannes 301 



though it might taste good in spite of the mix- 
ture. 




At Le Cannet is the Villa Sardou, where the 
great actress Rachel spent the last days of her 
life and died in 1858. Near Le Cannet, too, 



302 Rambles on the Riviera 

is a most strangely built edifice known as 
the * ' Maison du Brigand. " It is the chief 
sight of the neighbourhood for the curious and 
speculative, though what its uncanny design 
really means no one seems to know. It is a 
spudgy, square tower with an overhanging roof 
of tiles and four queer corbels at the corners. 
The entrance doorway is three metres, at least, 
from the ground, and leads immediately to the 
second story. From this one descends to the 
ground floor, not by a stairway, but through a 
trap-door. This curious structure is supposed 
to date from the sixteenth century. 

Vallauris is what one might call a manufac- 
turing suburb of Cannes, a town of potteries 
and potters. The potteries of the Golfe Jouan, 
of which Vallauris is the headquarters, are 
famous, and their product is known by con- 
noisseurs the world over. 

One notes the smoke and fumes from the 
furnaces where the pottery is baked, and likens 
the aspect to that of a great industrial town, 
though Vallauris is, as a matter of fact, more 
daintily environed than any other of its class 
in the known world. Not all of its six thousand 
inhabitants are engaged at the potteries; but 
by far the greater portion are ; enough to make 
the town rank as a city of workmen, for such 



La Napoule and Cannes 303 

it really is, though it would take but little 
thought or care to make of it the ideal " gar- 
den city." 

Artist-travellers have long remarked the qual- 
ities of the plastic clay found here, and by their 
suggestions and aid have enabled the manufac- 
turers to develop a high expression of the artis- 
tic sense among their workmen. Most of these 
workers are engaged, in the first instance, as 
mere moulders of ordinary pots and jugs ; but, 
as they acquire skill and the art sense, they are 
advanced to more important and lucrative posi- 
tions. 

The establishment of Clement Massier is fa- 
mous for the quality and excellent design of its 
product. The proprietor in the early days, by 
his natural taste and studies, brought his work 
to the attention of such masters in art as Ge- 
rome, Cabanal, Berne-Bellecour, and Puvis de 
Chavannes, all of whom encouraged him to de- 
velop his abilities still further. 

Study of antique forms and processes threw 
a new light upon the art, or at least a newly 
reflected light, and at last were produced those 
wonderful iridescent effects and enamels which 
were a revelation to lovers of modern pottery. 
Their success was achieved at the great Paris 
Exposition of 1889, since which time they have 



304 Rambles on the Riviera 

been the vogue among the '" clientele elegant 
du littoral," as the cicerone who takes you over 
the Ceramic Musee tells you. 

Vallauris is noted also for its production of 
orange-water, or, rather, orange-flower water, 
with which the French flavour all kinds of subtle 
warm drinks of which they are so fond. The 
tisane of the French takes the place of the tea 
of the English, and they make it of all sorts 
of things, — a stewed concoction of verbena 
leaves, of mint, and even pounded apricot 
stones, — and always with a dash of orange- 
flower water. It is not an unpleasant drink thus 
made, but wofuUy insipid. 

The orange-trees of the neighbourhood of 
Cannes and Vallauris prosper exceedingly, 
though it is not for their fruit that they are 
so carefully tended. It is the blossoming flowers 
that are in demand, partly for enhancing the 
charms of brides, but more particularly for 
making orange essence. There are numerous 
distilleries devoted to this at Vallauris, and, 
when the season of gathering the orange-flower 
crop arrives, a couple of thousand women and 
children engage in the pleasant task. A million 
kilogrammes of the flower are gathered in a 
good season, from which is produced as much 
as seventy-five thousand kilos of essence. 



CHAPTER VIIL 

ANTIBES AND THE GOKPE JOUAN 

Beyond Cannes, on the eastern shore of the 
Golfe Jouan, before one comes to the penin- 
sula's neck, is a newly founded station known 
as Jouan-les-Pins. It is little more than a ham- 
let, though there are villas and hotels and a 
water-front with wind-shelters and all the ap- 
pointments which one expects to find in such 
places. 

Jouan-les-Pins really is a delightful place, the 
rock-pines coming well down to the shore and 
half -burying themselves in the yellow sands. 
A boulevard, bordered by a balustrade, extends 
along the water's edge and forms that blend of 
artificiality and nature which, of all places 
on the Riviera, is seen at its best at Monte 
Carlo. 

Undoubtedly there is some sort of a great 
future awaiting Jouan-les-Pins, for it is al- 
ready regarded as a suburb of Antibes, and 
it is but a few years since Antibes itself was 
but a narrow-alleyed, high-walled little town, 

305 



306 



Rambles on the Riviera 



reminiscent of the mediaeval fortress that it 
once was. To-day the bastions of Antibes have 
nearly disappeared under the picks of the in- 
dustrious workmen. 

The chief event of historic moment in the 
vicinity was the landing of Napoleon here on 




Jouan-les-Pins 



his return from Elba, on March 1, 1815. Every 
one feared the time when the ' ' Corsican ogre ' ' 
should break loose, and when the ambitious 
Napoleon set foot upon the shores of the Golf e 
Jouan, there was no doubt but that his sole 
object was to regain the throne which he had 
lost. Provence, Languedoc, and Dauphine were 
supposed to be faithful to the reigning Louis, 
hence there was little fear that Napoleon's 



Antibes and the Golfe Jouan 307 

march would extend beyond their confines. 
How well the emotions of a people were to be 
judged in those days is best recalled by the fact 
that it was but a mere promenade from Jouan- 
les-Pins, via Grasse, Gap, and Sisteron, to 
Lyons. The opinions of the advisers of Louis 
XVIII. were decidedly wrong, for, while the 
Provengaux remained faithful to the Bourbon, 
the mountaineers of Dauphine were only too 
ready and willing to give Napoleon the aid he 
wished. 

In the early ages the shores of the Golfe 
Jouan were well known and beloved by Phoe- 
nicians, Greeks, Eomans, barbarians, and 
Moors alike. The name Jouan, which comes 
down from the Saracens, has by some geog- 
raphers been changed to Juan. Since, however, 
the old Provengal spelling and pronunciation 
was Jouan {ou being the Provencal accent of 
the French u), it is still so written by the best 
authorities. 

Never has the word incomparable been more 
suitably applied than to the Golfe Jouan and 
the monuments of the past civilization that 
surround it. Together with the Golfe de la 
Napoule it forms one vast expanse of bay, the 
most ample and, perhaps, the most beautiful 
on the whole Eiviera. To the south is the open 



308 Rambles on the Riviera 



sea, and to tlie north the varied background of 
the Alpes-Maritimes. 

Antibes has itself much charm of situation, 
though it is mostly known to English-speaking 
people as a sort of rest-house on the way to 
the more gay attractions of Monte Carlo and 
about there. 

Antibes is, however, of great antiquity, hav- 
ing been the Antipolis of the Romans. It has 
the usual attractions of the Riviera towns and, 
in addition, the proximity of the great penin- 
sula of Antibes, locally called the Cap. 

This peninsula is a rare combination of trees 
and rocks and winding roads, almost sur- 
rounded by the pulsing Mediterranean, always 
cool and comfortable, even in summer, and 
scarcely ever troubled by the blowing of the 
mistral. Villas, almost without end, occupy the 
Cap, tree-hidden, and all brilliantly stuccoed 
with a tint which so well harmonizes with the 
surrounding subtropical flora that the effect 
is as of fairy-land. 

The Jardin Thuret is a great botanical col- 
lection, covering an area of over seven hec- 
tares, a gift to the nation by the sister of the 
great botanist of the same name. The Villa 
Eilen-Roc has also wonderful gardens, laid out 
with exotic plants, and open to visitors. 



Antibes and the Golfe Jouan 309 

Offshore, to the westward, are the lies de 
Lerins and the Golfe de la Napoule, while east- 
ward lie the Baie des Anges and the moun- 
tains back of Nice. Northward are the snow- 
clad summits of the Alpine range, while to the 
south is the sea, where one sees the filmy smoke 
of great steamers bound for Genoa or Mar- 
seilles, while nearer at hand are the white- 
winged balancelles and tartanes. Truly it is 
a ravishing picture which is here spread out 
before one, and therein lies the great charm 
of Antibes. 

There is a weird combination of things de- 
vout and secular at Antibes, — Notre Dame 
d 'Antibes, with its hermitage; the lighthouse; 
and the semaphore. Of the utility of the two 
latter there can be no doubt, while the tiny 
chapel of the hermitage forms a link which 
binds the sailor-folk at sea with their friends 
on shore. It is a sort of ex-voto shrine, like 
Notre Dame de la Garde at Marseilles, where 
one may register his vows upon his departure 
or return from the sea. 

When the river Var was the boundary be- 
tween France and Piedmont, this Chapelle de 
Notre Dame was a place of pilgrimage for the 
seafarers on both sides of the river, and pass- 
ports were freely given to permit the Italians 



310 Rambles on the Riviera 

to worship here at this seaside shrine of Our 
Lady. 

Antibes has much of historic reminiscence 
about it, though to-day its monuments are 
neither very numerous nor magnificent. 

The old town was, for military reasons, sur- 
rounded with walls, and thus the sea was some 
distance from the centre of the town. Then, 
as to-day, to get a whiff of the sea, one had to 
leave the narrow tortuous picturesquenesss of 
the old town behind and saunter on the quays 
of the little port, with its narrow entrance to 
the open sea. 

There is little traffic of importance going on 
in the port of Antibes ; mostly the shipping of 
the product of the potteries at Vallauris and 
neighbouring towns. Still, by no means is it 
an abandoned port; it is a popular haven for 
Mediterranean yachtsmen, and fishermen find 
it a suitable base for their operations in the 
open sea; so there is a constant going and 
coming such as gives a picturesque liveliness 
which is lacking at a mere resort or watering- 
place. Antibes is, moreover, a torpedo-boat 
station of the French navy, being safely shel- 
tered by a line of rocks which parallel the 
coast-line for some distance just beyond the 
harbour's mouth, and which are marked by a 



Antibes and the Golfe Jouan 311 

great iron buoy, known locally by the name of 
'' Cinq Cent Francs." 

In the days of the Romans Antibes was prob- 
ably the military port of Cimiez, and in a later 
day it came into the favour of both Henri IV. 
and Eichelieu as a strongly fortified place. 
Later, Vauban came on the scene and sur- 
rounded its harbour with a great circular mole 
with considerable architectural pretensions. 
To-day the place is practically ignored as a 
military stronghold in favour of Villefranche 
and Toulon and the many intermediate batter- 
ies which have been erected. 

The origin of the name of the town comes 
from the colony of Massaliotes who came here 
in the fifth century. Its modern name is a deri- 
vation from its earlier nomenclature, which be- 
came successively Antibon, Antibolus, and then 
Antiboul, — the Provencal name for the An- 
tibes of the later French. 

To-day one may see the remains of two an- 
cient towers built by the Romans, and there 
are still evidences of the substructure of the 
antique theatre, built into the lower courses 
of some modern houses. In the walls of 
the Hotel de Ville is a tablet reading as fol- 
lows : 



312 Rambles on the Riviera 



D. M. 
PVERI SEPTENTRI 

ONIS ANNORXI QUI 
ANTIPOLI IN THEATRO 
BIDVO SALTAVIT ET PLACVIT. 



According to Miclielet this was a memorial to 
'' the child Septentrion, who, at the age of 
twelve years, appeared two days at the theatre 
of Antipolis; doubtless one of the slaves who 
were let out to managers of spectacles." 

Inland from Antibes, on the banks of a little 
streamlet, the Brague, lies Biot, once a settle- 
ment of the Templars, and later, in the four- 
teenth century, a possession of the Genoese, 
or at least peopled by a colony of them. 

It is a remarkable little place, generally over- 
looked by travellers in the rush to the show- 
places of the Eiviera, and the suggestion is here 
made that any who are seeking for a real ex- 
otic could not do better than hunt it here. The 
manners and customs, and even the speech, of 
many of the old people of the town are as 
Italian as those of the Genoese themselves. 
The tiny bourg possesses a series of arcades 
surrounding a tiny square, a product of the 
fourteenth century, and is as '' foreign " to 



Antibes and the Golfe Jouan 313 

these parts as would be the wigwam of an In- 
dian. There are also remains of the old ram- 
parts of the town still visible, and the whole 




ensemble is as a page torn from a book which 
had been closed for centuries. 

One need not fear undue discomfort here in 
this little old-world spot, where things go on 
much the same as they have for centuries. 



314 Rambles on the Riviera 

There is nothing of the allurements of the great 
hotels of the resorts about the two modest inns 
at Biot, but for all that there is a bountiful 
and excellent fare to be had amid entirely 
charming surroundings, and, if one is minded,' 
he can easily put in a month at the retreat, and 
only descend to the super-refinements of 
Cannes or Nice — each perhaps a dozen miles 
away — whenever he feels the pangs which 
prompt him to get in touch with a daily paper 
and the delights of asphalt pavements and 
" dressy " society. 

Not all Eiviera tourists know the lies de 
Lerins as well as they might, though it is a 
popular enough excursion from Cannes. 

These isles give the distinct note which lends 
charm to the waters of the Mediterranean just 
offshore from Cannes, forming, as they do, a 
sort of a jetty, or breakwater, between the Golfe 
de la Napoule and the Golfe Jouan. 

There are but two islands in the group, St. 
Honorat and Ste. Marguerite, the latter sep- 
arated from the Pointe de la Croisette at 
Cannes by a little over a kilometre. It costs 
a franc to cover this by boat, and another franc 
to pass between Ste. Marguerite and St. Ho- 
norat. 

The He Ste. Marguerite and its prison are 



Antibes and the Golfe Jouan 315 

redolent of much of history, from the days of 
the ' ' Iron Mask " up to those of the miserable 
Bazaine. Much has been hazarded from time 
to time as to the real identity of the " Man 
in the Iron Mask," but the annals of Provence 
dealing with Ste. Marguerite seem to point to 
the fact that he was Count Mattioli, the minis- 
ter of the Duke of Mantua, who had agreed to 
betray his master into the hands of the French, 
and then for some unaccountable reason — no 
one knows why — repented, with the result that 
he was entrapped and thrown into prison. One 
sees still the walls of the dungeon where 
twenty-seven years of his unhappy life were 
spent. 

Bazaine, the unfortunate Marechal de France 
who capitulated at Metz during the Franco- 
Prussian war, was also confined here, from 
December, 1873, to August, 1874, when by some 
unexplained means, he was able to escape to 
Italy. 

The islands take their collective name from 
the memory of a pirate of the heroic age, Lero 
by name, to whom a temple was erected on the 
larger isle. 

The He St. Honorat has perhaps a greater 
interest than that of Ste. Marguerite. St. Ho- 
Eorat established hinaself here in retreat in the 



316 Rambles on the Riviera 

fifth century, and his abode was afterward vis- 
ited by Erin's St. Patrick. 

A religious foundation, known as the Mon- 
astery of Lerins, took shape here in the sixth 
century, and became one of the most celebrated 
in all Christendom. 

Barbarians, fanatics, and pirates attacked 
the isle from time to time, but they could not 
disturb the faith upon which the religious es- 
tablishment was built, and it was only in 1778, 
when it was desecularized by the Pope, that its 
influence waned. 

In 1791, Mile. Alziary de Eoquefort, an ac- 
tress of fame in her day, acquired the isle and 
made it her residence. To-day it is in the pos- 
session of a community of Benedictines of Ci- 
teaux, who cultivate a great portion of its soil 
for the benefit of the Bishop of Frejus. 

The modern conventual buildings are on the 
site of the old establishment, now completely 
disappeared, but the community is well worth 
the visiting, if only to bring away with one a 
bottle of the Liqueur Lerina, which, in the 
opinion of many, is the equal of the popular 
'' Benedictine " and *' Chartreuse." 

There is a fragment of the old fortress-cha- 
teau still left to view, bathing the foot of its 
crenelated donjon in the sea, a reminder of the 



Antibes and the Golfe Jouan 317 



days when the monks fought valiantly against 
pirate invasion. 

Legend accounts for the names borne by both 
the lies de Lerins. Two orphans of high de- 
gree, brother and sister, left their home in the 




Vosges and came to Provence, which they 
adopted as their future home. 

Marguerite took up her residence on the isle 
nearest the shore, and her brother on the far- 
thermost. Disconsolate at being left alone, the 



318 Rambles on the Riviera 

maid supplicated her brother to come to her, 
and this he promised to do each year when 
the cherry-trees were in bloom. Marguerite 
prayed to God that her brother, who had be- 
come a religieux, would come more often; at 
once the cherry-trees about her habitation burst 
into bloom, a miracle which occurred each 
month thereafter, and her brother, true to his 
promise, came promptly the first of each month, 
and thus broke the lonely vigil of his sister. 



CHAPTER IX. 

GKASSE AND ITS ENVIEOFS 

AccoEDiNG to the French geographers, Grasse 
occupies a commanding site on a '' montagne 
a pic," and this describes its situation exactly. 

On the flanks of this great hill sits the town, 
its back yards, almost without exception, set 
out with olive and orange trees, to say nothing 
of the more extended plantations of the same 
sort seen as one reaches the outskirts. 

The whole note of Grasse is of flowers, trees, 
and shrubs, and the perfume-laden air an- 
nounces the. fact from afar. 

Above rises the '' pic," and, farther away, 
the northern boundary of the horizon is circum- 
scribed with an amphitheatre of wooded moun- 
tains severe and imposing in outline. 

Grasse is but a short eighteen kilometres 
from the Mediterranean, but the whole topo- 
graphical aspect of the country has changed. 
The panorama seaward is the only intimation 
of the characteristics which have come to be 
recognized as the special belongings of the 

319 



320 Rambles on the Riviera 

French Eiviera. The foot-hills slope gently 
down to the blue " nappe," which is the only 
word which describes the Mediterranean when 
it is all of a tranquil blue. It is an incom- 
parable view that one has over this eighteen 
kilometres of country southward, and a strong 
contrast to the lively suburbs of the coast 
towns. Its charm and beauty are all its own, 
and there is little of the modern note to be 
heard as one threads the highways and byways, 
through the valleys and down the ravines to 
sea-level. Without doubt it was a fortunate 
choice of the Eomans when they set their Cas- 
trum Crassense on this verdure-crowned height. 

In the middle ages Grasse developed rapidly, 
and became the seat of a bishop and a place 
dominant in the commerce of the region. The 
inhabitants were reputed to be possessed of 
wonderful energies, and the fact that they were 
twice able to repel the Moorish invaders, 
though their town was practically destroyed, 
seems to prove this beyond a doubt. 

Richelieu gave the bishopric of this proud 
city to Antoine Godeau, who, it seems, pos- 
sessed hardly any qualifications for the post 
except family influence and the flatteries he 
had showered upon the cardinal. Because of 
his small stature this prelate became known as 



Grasse and Its Environs 321 

the " Nain de Julie," but in time he came to 
develop a real aptitude for his calling, and 
governed his diocese with care, prudence, and 
judgment, and became an Academicien through 
having written a history of the Church in 
France during the eighteenth century. 

The ecclesiastical monuments of Grasse are 
not many or as beautiful as might be expected 
of a bishop's seat, and at the Eevolution the 
see was suppressed. The old-time cathedral, 
as it exists to-day, is an ungracious thing, with 
a perron, a sort of horseshoe staircase, before 
it, built by Vauban, who, judging from this 
work, was far more of a success as a fortress- 
builder than as a designer of churches. 

Formerly Grasse was the seat of the Pre- 
fecture of the Departement du Var, but, with 
the inclusion of the Comte de Nice within the 
limits of France, the honour was given to Dra- 
guignan, while that of the newly made Departe- 
ment des Alpes-Maritimes was given to Nice, 
and Grasse became simply a sous-prefecture. 
Shorn of its official dignities, and never having 
arisen to the notoriety of being a fashionable 
resort, Grasse '' buckled down to business," as 
one might say, and acquired a preeminence in 
the manufacture of perfumes, candied fruits, 
and confitures unequalled elsewhere in the 



322 Rambles on the Riviera 

south of France. The manufacture of soaps, 
wax, oil products, and candles also form a con- 
siderable industry, and the general aspect of 
Grasse is quite as prosperous, indeed more so, 
than if it were dependent on the butterfly tour- 
ists of the coast towns. 

The streets of the town rise and fall in be- 
wildering fashion. They are badly laid out, 
in many cases, and dark and gloomy, but they 
are nevertheless picturesque to a high degree; 
a sort of neglige picturesqueness, which does 
not necessarily mean dirty or squalid. There 
are no remarkable architectural splendours in 
all the town, and there are none of those ar- 
chaeological surprises such as one comes upon 
at Aix or Frejus. 

Grasse has a fine library, containing numer- 
ous rare manuscripts and deeds and the ar- 
chives of the ancient Abbey of Lerins. In the 
Hopital is an early work of Rubens, which 
ranks as one of the world's" great art treas- 
ures, and there is a further interest in the city 
for art-lovers from the fact that it was th6 
birthplace of Fragonard, to whom a fine bust 
in marble has been erected in the Jardin Pub- 
lique. 

As before mentioned, the height above is the 
chief point of interest at Grasse. It culminates 




Flower Market, Grasse 



Grasse and Its Environs 323 

in the significantly named promenade known 
as the '^ Jeu de Ballon." A sea of tree-tops 
surges about one on all sides, with here and 
there a glimpse of the red roof-tops of the 
town below. 

Between the town and the sea is an immense 
rocky wall known as Les Eibbes, with a pic- 
turesque cascade rippling down its flank. 
From its apex Napoleon, escaping from Elba, 
arrested his flight long enough to turn and — 
in the words of his best-known historian — 
^* contemplate the immense panorama which un- 
rolled before his eyes, and salute for the last 
time the Mediterranean and the mountains of 
La Corse, which he was never again to see." 

The assertion '' voir La Corse," in the orig- 
inal, was not a figure of speech, for under cer- 
tain conditions of wind and weather the same 
is possible to-day. 

A half a dozen kilometres to the eastward 
of Grasse the highroad crosses the river Loup, 
and one sees a semicircular town before him 
known as Villeneuve-Loubet. The town has 
hotels and all the faint echoes of the watering- 
places of the coast. This is a pity, for it is 
delightful, or was, before all this up-to-dateness 
came. Its chateau, still proudly rearing its 



324 Rambles on the Riviera 

head above the town, was built in the twelfth 
century by the Comtes de Provence. 

The primitive town was called Loubet, a cor- 
ruption of the name of the river which bathes 
its walls. Before even the days of the occupa- 
tion of the Comtes de Provence, as early as 
the seventh century, there was a monastery 
here known by the name of Notre Dame la 
Doree, of which scanty remains are visible even 
to-day. Owing to various Mussulman incur- 
sions, the occupants of the monastery were 
forced to flee to the protection of the chateau, 
and soon the "Ville-neuve " was created, ulti- 
mately forming the hyphenated name by which 
the place is known to-day. 

Still onward, on the road to Nice, is Cagnes, 
a sort of economical overflow from the more 
aristocratic resort, with few advantages. to-day 
as an abiding-place, and most of the disadvan- 
tages of the larger city. There are tooting 
trams, automobile garages, and shops for the 
sale of many of the minor wants of life, which 
in former times one had to walk the ten or a 
dozen kilometres into Nice to get. The auto- 
mobile is a very good thing for touring, but, 
as a perambulator in which to '^ run down to 
the village," it is much overrated and a con- 
firmed nuisance to every one ; and Cannes suf- 



Grasse and Its Environs 325 

fers from this more than any other place in 
France, unless it be Giverny on the Seine, the 
most overautomobiled town in the world, — 
one to every score of inhabitants. 

Once Cagnes bid fair to become an artists' 
resort, but it became overrun with " tea and 
toast " tourists, and so it just missed becom- 
ing a Pont Aven or a Barbizon. For all that, 
it is a picturesque enough place to-day ; indeed, 
it is delightful, and if it were not for the auto- 
mobiles everywhere about, and that awful tram, 
it would be even more so. However, its little 
artists' hotel was, and is, able to make up for 
a good deal that is otherwise lacking, and the 
sawmills, brick-works, and distilleries of the 
neighbourhood are not offensive enough to take 
away all of its sylvan charm. 

In earlier times Cagnes was both a place of 
military importance and a sort of a city of 
pleasure, something after the Pompeiian order, 
one fancies, from the Roman remains which 
have been found here. 

There is an ancient chateau of the Grimaldi 
family, still very much in evidence, though it 
has become the property of a German. In many 
respects it is a beautiful Eenaissance work and 
is accordingly an architectural monument of 
rank. 



326 Rambles on the Riviera 

Directly inland from Cagnes is Vence, an 
ancient episcopal city wMch was sliorn of its 
ecclesiastical rights at the Revolution. In 
spite of this the memories and the very sub- 
stantial reminders of other days, still to be 
seen within the precincts of the one-time cathe- 
dral, give it rank as an ecclesiastical shrine 
quite out of the ordinary. The church itself 
is built upon the site, and in part out of, an 
ancient temple to Cybele, and the fortifications, 
erected when the Saracens had possession of 
the city, are still readily traced. It is a most 
picturesquely disposed little city, and well 
worth more attention than is generally be- 
stowed upon it. 

Between Grasse and Nice lies the valley of 
the Loup, a stream of some sixty kilometres 
in length emptying into the Mediterranean, 
and which has the reputation of being the most 
torrential waterway in France, in this respect 
far exceeding the more important streams, 
such as the Rhone, the Durance, and the Tou- 
loubre. Its course is so sinuous, ,as it comes 
down from its source in the Alpes-Maritimes, 
that it is known locally as " le serpent.' ' With 
all violence it rolls down its rapidly sloping 
bed, amid rock-cut gorges and wooded ravines, 
in quite the manner of the scenic waterfalls 



Grasse and Its Environs 327 

of the geographies that one scans at school. 
It does not resemble Niagara in any manner, 
nor is it a slim, narrow cascade at any point; 
but throughout its whole length it is a series 
of tiny waterfalls which, in a photograph, do 
indeed look like miniature Niagaras. All along 
its course are numerous centres of population, 
though none of them reach to the dignity of 
a town and hardly that of a village, if one ex- 
cepts Le Bar, the chief point of departure for 
excursions in the gorges. 

Le Bar is reminiscent of the Saracens, who 
were for long masters of the neighbouring 
country. The walls of the houses and barriers 
are of that warm, rosy, mud-baked tint that 
one associates mostly with the Orient, and no 
artist's palette is too rich in colour to depict 
them as they are. The Saracens called the 
place " Al-Bar," which came later, by an easy 
process of evolution, to Alharnum, and finally 
Le Bar. 

It was an important place under the Roman 
domination, and, in time, when the town came 
to be a valued possession of the Comtes de 
Provence, the cross succeeded the crescent. In 
the tiny church of the town there is a remark- 
able ancient painting picturing a '' danse ma- 
cabre/' supposed to be of the fifteenth century. 



328 



Rambles on the Riviera 



Above Le Bar is the aerial village of Gour- 
don, fantastic in name, situation, and all its 
elements. At its feet rushes the restless Loup, 




Gourdon 



and tears its way through one of those curious 
rock-walls which one only sees in these parts. 
To the westward is the curious and imposing 



Grasse and Its Environs 329 

outline of Grasse, the metropolis of the neigh- 
bourhood. 

Near by the railway crosses the ravine on an 
imposing and really beautiful modern viaduct 
of seven arches, each twelve metres in height 
— nearly forty feet. 

Up the ravine toward the source, or down- 
ward to the sea, the charms multiply themselves 
like the glasses of the kaleidoscope until one, 
as a result of a first visit to this much neglected 
scenic spectacle, is quite of the mind that it 
resembles nothing so much as a miniature 
Yellowstone. 



CHAPTEE X. 

NICE AND CIMIEZ 

When one crosses the Var he crosses the 
ancient frontier between France and the Comte 
de Nice. The old-time French inhabitants of 
the Comte ever considered it an alien land, and 
invariably expressed the wish to be buried in 
the Cemetery of St. Laurent du Var, just over 
the border in the royal domain. 

The present Pont du Var, which one crosses 
as he comes from the westward, from Cagnes 
or Antibes, is the successor of another flung 
across the same stream by Vauban, much 
against his will, it would seem, for he said 
boldly that it was so foolish a project as never 
to be worth a hundredth part of its cost. How 
poorly he reckoned can be judged by the hun- 
dreds of thousands of travellers — millions 
doubtless — who, in later years, have made use 
of it. He evidently did not foresee the tide of 
tourist travel, whatever may have been his 
genius as a military engineer. 

The Var is not a very formidable-looking 

330 



Nice and Cimiez 



331 







332 Rambles on the Riviera 

river at first glance, and has not the tempestu- 
ous flood of the Ehone and the Durance in 
actual volume, but the excess of water which 
it carries to the sea, at certain seasons, is pro- 
portionately very much greater. The Ehone 
increases its bulk but thirty times, the Durance 
a hundred times, but the Var throws into the 
Mediterranean, in time of flood, a hundred and 
forty times its usual flow, a fact which ranks 
it as one of the most fickle waterways of Eu- 
rope, if not of the world. 

So important a place as Nice of course has 
a legendary account of the origin of its name. 
It is claimed by some historians, and disputed 
by others, that it was a colony founded by the 
Massaliotes three hundred years before the 
beginning of the Christian era, and, in conse- 
quence of a signal success against the Ligu- 
rians, the place received the glorious name of 
Victory, — Nicma, a name which with but little 
alteration has come down to to-day. 

Long before the French came into posses- 
sion of the Comte de Nice and its capital there 
was a friendship, and a sort of union, between 
the two peoples. When the little state became 
a part of modern France, it became simply 
more French than it was before. This was the 
only change to be remarked until the era of 



Nice and Cimiez 333 

its great prosperity as a winter resort, for the 
world's idlers made it what it is, — the best- 
known winter station in all the world. 

Nice used to be called ' ' Nizza la Bella, ' ' but, 
since the arrival of the French (1860), and the 
English, and the Americans, and the Germans 
(the Russian grand dukes, be it recalled, have 
made Cannes their own) , ' ' Nizza la Bella ' ' has 
become " Nice la Belle," for it is beautiful in 
spite of its drawbacks for the lover of sylvan 
and unartificial charms. 

There is not in Africa a spot more African 
in appearance than the railway station at Nice ; 
such at all events is the impression that it 
makes upon one when he views the enormous 
palms that surround the station. 

Up to this time the traveller from the north, 
by rail, has got some glimpses of the southland 
from the windows of his railway car ; has seen 
some palms, perhaps, and other specimens of 
a subtropical flora; but, since the railway 
does not make its way through the palm ave- 
nues of Hyeres or Cannes, the sudden appari- 
tion of Nice is as of something new. 

Many have sung the praises of '* Nice la 
Belle ' ' in prose and verse ; in times past, Du- 
patay, Lalande, and Delille; and, in our own 
day, Alphonse Karr, Dumas pere, De Banville, 



334 



Rambles on the Riviera 




■B.McM, 



Nice and Cimiez 335 

Mistral, Jacques Normand, Bourget, Nadaud, 
and a host of others too numerous to mention. 

Nice is a marvellous blend of the old and the 
new ; the old quarter of the Nigois, with narrow 
streets of stairs, overhanging balconies, and all 
the accessories of the life of the Latins as they 
have been pictured for ages past; the new, 
with broad boulevards, straight tree-bordered 
avenues flanked with gay shops, hotels, ki- 
osks, automobile cabs, and all the rest of 
what we have come unwisely to regard as the 
necessities of the age. The curtain of trees 
flanking these great modern thoroughfares is 
the only thing that saves them from becoming 
monotonous ; as it is, they are as attractive as 
any of their kind in Paris, Lyons, or Marseilles. 

The Promenade des Anglais is the finest of 
these thoroughfares. With its yuccas, and its 
garden, and its sea-wall, and its fringe of white- 
crested, lapping waves, it is all very entranc- 
ing, — all except the inartistic thing of glass 
roofs and iron struts, known the world over 
as a pier, and which, in spite of its utility, — 
if it really is useful, — is an abomination. Ar- 
tificiality is all very well in its place, but out 
of place it is as indigestible as the nougat of 
Montelimar. 

The Nice of to-day bears little resemblance 



336 Rambles on the Riviera 

to the Nice of half a century ago, as one learns 
from recorded history and a gossip with an 
old inhabitant. Then it was simply a collec- 
tion of maisons groupees, with narrow, crooked 
streets between, huddled around the flanks of 
the old chateau. 

In those days the railway ended at Genoa 
on the east and at Toulon on the west, and the 
space between was only covered by diligence, 
horse or donkey back, or by boat. The '' high 
life," as the French have come themselves to 
term listlessness and indolence, had not yet ar- 
rived, in spite of the fact that its outpost had 
already been planted at Cannes by England's 
chancellor. 

Those were parlous times for Monte Carlo. 
There was but one table for " trente et qua- 
rante " and one for '' roulette," and the open- 
ing of the game waited upon the arrival of a 
score of persons who came from Nice daily by 
voiture puhlique, via La Turbie, or by the 
cranky little steamer which took an hour and 
forty minutes in good weather, and which in 
bad did not start out at all. On these occasions 
there was little or nothing " doing " at Monte 
Carlo, but the new regime saw to it that trans- 
portation facilities were increased and im- 
proved, and immediately everything prospered. 



Nice and Cimiez 337 

However much one may deplore the advent 
of the railway along picturesque travel routes, 
and it certainly does detract not a little from 
several charming Eiviera panoramas, there is 
no question but that it is a necessary evil. Per- 
haps after all it isn't an evil, for one can be 
very comfortable in any of the great and luxuri- 
ous expresses which deposit their hordes all 
along the Eiviera during the winter season. 
The new thirteen-hour train from Paris, the 
"Cote d'Azur Rapide/' has already become 
one of the world's wonders for speed, taking 
less than three-quarters of an hour in making 
the nine stops between Paris and Nice. Then 
there are the '* London-Riviera Express," the 
'^ Vienne-Cannes Express," the " Calais-Nice 
Express," and the Nord-Sud-Brenner (Cannes, 
Nice, Vintimille to Berlin), with sleeping-cars 
and dining-cars, but not yet with bathrooms, 
barber-shops, or stenographers and typewrit- 
ers, which have already arrived in America, 
where business is combined with the joy of 
living. 

From the very fact of its past history and 
of its geographical location, Nice is the most 
cosmopolitan of all the cities of the Eiviera, 
if we except Monte Carlo. 

To the stranger, English, French, and Ital- 



338 Rambles on the Riviera 

ians seem to be about on a par at Nice, with 
a liberal addition of Germans and Russians, 
though naturally French are really in the ma- 
jority. There are many Italian-speaking peo- 
ple in the old town of Nice, away from the 
frankly tourist quarters, but it is a strange 
Italian that one hears, and in many cases is 
not Italian at all, but the Nigois patois, which 
sounds quite as much like the real Provengal 
tongue as it does Italian, though in reality it is 
not a very near approach to either. 

Nice is the true centre of the catalogued 
beauties of the Riviera, and in consequence it 
has become the truly popular resort of the re- 
gion. In spite of this it is not the most lovable, 
for garish hotels, — no matter how fine their 
^' roshif " may be, — chalets coquets, and sky- 
scraping apartment houses have a way of in- 
truding themselves on one's view in a most 
distressing manner until one is well out into 
the foot-hills of the Alpes-Maritimes and away 
from the tooting, humming electric trams. 
• The port of Nice is not a great one, as those 
of the maritime world go, but it is sufficient 
to the needs of the city, and there is a consid- 
erable coastwise traffic going on. The basin 
is purely artificial and was cut practically from 
the solid rock. With its sheltering mountain 











.^ ^ 



Nice 



Nice and Cimiez 339 

background it is exceedingly picturesque and 
well disposed. The tiny river Paillon runs into 
it from the north, a rivulet which in its own 
small way apes the torrents of the Var in times 
of flood. At other seasons it runs drily through 
the town and bares its pebbles to the blazing 
southern sun. It serves its purpose well 
though, in that its thin stream of water forms 
the washing-place of the washerwomen of Nice, 
and, from their numbers, one might think of 
the whole Eiviera. The process of pounding 
and strangling one's linen into a semblance of 
whiteness does not differ greatly here from 
that of other parts of France. There are the 
same energetic swoops of the paddle, the 
thrashings on a flat stone, the swishings and 
swashings in the running water of the stream, 
and finally the spreading on the ground to dry. 
Here, though, the linen is spread on the smooth, 
clean pebbles of the river-bed and the southern 
sun speedily dries it to a stiffness (and yellow- 
ness) which grass-spread linen does not ac- 
quire. In other respects the washing process 
seems quite as efficacious as elsewhere, and 
there are quite as many small round holes (in 
the most impossible places), which will give 
one hours of speculation as to how they were 
made. It's all very simple, when you come to 



340 Rambles on the Riviera 

think of it. Things are simply rolled or twisted 
into a wad and pounded on the flat stone. 
Where nothing but linen intervenes between 
the paddle and the stone, a certain flatness is 
produced in the mass, and the dirt meanwhile 
is supposed to have sifted, or to have been 
driven, through and out. Where there are but- 
tons — well, that is where the little round holes 
come from, and meanwhile the buttons have 
been broken and have disappeared. The proc- 
ess has its disadvantages — decidedly. 

The old chateau of Nice and its immediate 
confines sound the most dominant old-time note 
of the entire city, for, in spite of the old streets 
and houses of the older part of the city, the 
quarters of the Nigois and the Italians, there 
is over all a certain reflex of the modernity 
which radiates from the great hotels, cafes, 
and shops of the newer boulevards and avenues. 

To be sure, the " chateau," so called to-day, 
is no chateau at all, and is in fact nothing more 
than a sort of garden, or park, wherein are 
some scanty remains of the chateau which ex- 
isted in the time of Louis XIV. The hill on 
which it sat is still the dominant feature of the 
place, although, according to the exaggerated 
draughtsmanship of the sixteenth and seven- 
teenth centuries, the chateau and its dependen- 



Nice and Cimiez 341 

cies must have been a marvellous array of 
spectacular architecture. The summit of this 
eminence, hanging high above the port on one 
side and the Quai du Midi and the valley of 
the Paillon on the other, is reached by a wind- 
ing road, doubling back and forth up its flank, 
but the only thing that would prompt one to 
make the ascent would be the exercise or the 
altogether surprising view which one has of the 
city and its immediate surroundings. 

The sea mirrors the sails of the shipping 
(mostly to-day it is funnels and masts, how- 
ever) and the distant promontories of Cap 
d'Antibes on the one side and Cap Ferrat 
on the other. Beyond the former the sun 
sets gloriously at night, amidst a ravishing 
burst of red, gold, and purple, quite unequalled 
elsewhere along the Riviera. Of course it is 
as glorious elsewhere, but the combination of 
scenic effects is not quite the same, and here, at 
least, Nice leads all the other Riviera tourist 
points. 

To the north are the lacelike snowy peaks 
of the Alps, cutting the horizon with that far- 
away brilliance and crispness which only a 
snow-capped mountain possesses. The con- 
trast is to be remarked in other lands quite 
as emphatically, at Riverside, in California, for 



342 Rambles on the Riviera 

instance, where you may have orange-blossoms 
one hour and deep snow in the next, if you will 
only climb the mountain to get it; but there 
is a historic atmosphere and local colour here 
on the Riviera whose places are not adequately 
filled by anything which ever existed in Cali- 
fornia. 

Nice is surrounded by a triple defence of 
mountains which, supporting one another, have 
all but closed the route to Italy from the north. 
This mountain barrier serves another purpose, 
and that is as a sort of shelter from the rigours 
of the Alps in winter. The wind-shield is not 
wholly effectual, for there is one break through 
which it howls in most distressing fashion most 
of the time. This is at the extremity of the 
port, where the wall is broken between the hill 
of the chateau and Mont Boron. Formerly this 
gap bore the old Provengal nomenclature of 
^' Raouho Capeou," which, literally translated, 
may be called the " hat-lifter," and which the 
French themselves call '^ Derobe Chapeau." 

Above all, one should see Nice in the height 
of the flower season, when the stalls of the 
flower merchants are literally buried under a 
harvest of flowers and perfumed fruits. 

Nice's distractions are too numerous to be 
mentioned in detail. The Mi-Careme and Mardi 



Nice and Cimiez 343 

Gras festivals are nowhere on the Riviera more 
brilliant than here, and now that in these pro- 
gressive days they have added '' Batailles de 
Fleurs " and " Courses d 'Automobiles," and 
** Horse-Eaces " and " Tennis " and " Golf 
Tournaments," the significance of the merry- 
making is quite different from the original in- 
terpretation given it by the Latins. Sooner or 
later '' Baseball " and " Shoe-blacking Con- 
tests " may be expected to be introduced, and 
then what will be one's recollections of '' Nizza 
la Bella? " 

The business of Nice consists almost entirely 
of the catering to her almost inexhaustible 
stream of winter visitors. This, and the traffic 
in garden vegetables and fruits, a trade of 
some proportions in olive-oil, and the manufac- 
ture and sale of crystallized fruit, make up the 
chief industrial life of the town. 

One other industry may be mentioned, though 
it is of little real worth, in spite of the business 
having reached large figures, — the trade in 
olive-wood souvenirs. Every one knows the 
sort of thing: penholders, napkin-rings, and 
card-cases. They are found at resorts all over 
the world, and the manufacturers of Nice have 
spread their product, throughout Europe, be- 
fore the eyes of the tourists who like to buy 



344 Rambles on the Eiviera 

such " souvenirs," whether they are at Brigh- 
ton, Mont St. Michel, or Vichy. 

The region between Nice and Menton seems 
particularly favourable to the growth of a much 
grander species of olive-tree than is to be seen 
in the other departements of the south, and the 
olive-oil of Nice, because of its peculiar per- 
fume, is greatly in demand among those who 
think they have an exquisite taste in this sort 
of thing. As most of this aromatic oil is ex- 
ported, the statement need be no reflection on 
the product of other parts. One hundred es- 
tablishments, of all ranks, are engaged in this 
traffic at Nice. 

The horticultural trade plays its part, and 
the roses and violets of Nice are found through- 
out the flower-markets of Europe. There are 
three great rose-growing centres in western 
Europe, Lyons, Paris, and Ghent (Belgium), 
and mostly their flowers are grown from plants 
obtained at Nice. 

The cut-flower traffic is also considerable lo- 
cally, and Nice, Beaulieu, Monaco, and Monte 
Carlo are themselves large consumers. 

Four kilometres only separate Nice from 
Cimiez, the latter comparatively as flourishing 
and important a town in the days of the Eo- 
mans as Nice is to-day. 




OUve Pickers in the Var 



Nice and Cimiez 



346 



For long it played a preeminent role in the 
history of these parts. To-day one makes his 
way by one of the ever-pushing electric trams 
which, in France, are threading every suburban 




byway in the vicinities of the cities and large 
towns. In other days this was the ancient 
Eoman way which bound Cimiez and Vence, 
the Via Augusta, the most ancient communi- 
cation between Italy and Gaul. Evidences of 



346 Rambles on the Riviera 

its old foundations are not deeply hidden, and 
this stretch of roadway must ever remain one 
of the most vivid examples of the utilitarian 
industry of the colonizing Eomans in Gaul. 

At Cimiez there are many evidences of the 
old Roman builders and their unequalled art, 
fragments of temples, aqueducts, baths, and 
amphitheatres. Everything is very fragmen- 
tary, often but a bit of a column, a sculptured 
leg or arm, or a morsel of a plate; but there 
is everything to prove that Cimiez was a most 
important place in its time. The most notable 
of these ruins is the amphitheatre, built after 
the conventional manner of theatre-building in- 
vented by the Greeks before the Eomans, and 
which has, in truth, not been greatly changed 
up to to-day, except that it has been roofed 
over. The theatre at Cimiez in no way sug- 
gests those other Provengal examples at Orange 
or Aries, the peers of their class in western 
Europe, and the stone-cutting was of a very 
rude quality or has greatly crumbled in the 
ages. Such of the walls and arches as are vis- 
ible to-day show a hardiness and correctness 
of design which, however, is not lived up to 
in the evidences of actual workmanship. 

There are no grandiose structures anywhere 



Nice and Cimiez 347 

in the vicinity ; everything is fragmentary, but 
Cimiez was evidently an important city in em- 
bryo, which some untoward influence prevented 
ever coming to its full-blown glory. 



CHAPTER XL 

VILLEFKAlsrCHE AND THE FOETIPICATIOISrS 

Nice in many respects is the centre from 
which radiates all the life of the Eiviera ; more- 
over its military and strategic importance at- 
tains the same distinction ; it is the base of the 
whole system, social and political. 

East and west the '' Cote d'Azur " extends 
until it runs against the grime and commercial 
activity of Marseilles on the one side, and 
Grenoa on the other. 

From the heights back of Nice one sees the 
Ligurian coast stretch away to infinity, with 
the sea and the distant isles to the right, while 
to the left are the peaks of the Maritime Alps. 

On this pied de terre France has organized a 
great series of defences by land and sea. On 
every height is a fort or a battery, like the 
castle-crowned crags of the Rhine. The bays 
and harbours below the foot-hills are all de- 
fended from the menaces of a real or imaginary 
foe by a guardian fringe of batteries and de- 
fences of all ranks, and, what with battle-ships 



Villefranche and the Fortifications 349 

and torpedo-boats, and destroyers and sub- 
marines, this frontier strip is in no more dan- 
ger of sudden attack by an unfriendly power 
than are the interior provinces of Berry and 
Burgundy. 

The entire country around Nice is one vast 
entrenched camp, constructed, equipped, and 
maintained, as may be supposed, with consid- 
erable difficulty and at enormous expense. A 
mountain fortress whose very stones, to say 
nothing of other materials, are transported up 
a trailless mountainside, is one of the wonder- 
works of man, and here there is a long line of 
such, encircling the whole region from the Ital- 
ian frontier westward to Toulon. 

Above all, the fortifications are concentrated 
in the country just back of the capital of the 
Riviera. All the great hillsides, rocky, moss- 
grown, or covered with pines or olive-trees, are 
a network of forts and batteries, strategic 
roads, reservoirs of water, and magazines of 
shot and shell. 

One of the strongest of these forts is on the 
flanks of Mont Boron; Cap Ferrat holds an- 
other, and the " Route de la Corniche," the 
only low-level line of communication between 
France and Italy, literally bristles with the 
same sort of thing. 



350 Rambles on the Riviera 



Fort de la Drette, five hundred metres in 
altitude, rises above that astonishing Saracen 
village of Eze, while a strategic route leads to 
another at Feuillerins, six hundred and forty- 
eight metres high, and thence to Fort de la 
Revere at seven hundred and three metres, an 
impregnable series of fortifications, one would 
think. 

Between the battery-crowned heights are the 
reservoirs and magazines of powder, all in full 
view of the automobile and coach tourists from 
Nice to Monte Carlo. The route skirts La 
Revere and the great towering rock back of 
Monte Carlo, known as the '' Tete de Chien," 
and the tourist may readily enough judge for 
himself as to the utility and efficacy of these 
distinctly modern defences. 

The crowning glory, however, is on Mont 
Agel, the culminating peak in the vicinity of 
Nice. It is situated at a height of eleven hun- 
dred and forty-nine metres, and it would take 
a long siege indeed to capture this fortress, 
if things ever came to an issue in its neighbour- 
hood. 

Of all the wonderful examples of road-mak- 
ing in France, and they are more numerous and 
excellent than elsewhere, the *' Route de la 
Grande Corniche " is the best known, covering 



Villefranche and the Fortifications 351 

as it does a matter of nearly fifty kilometres 
from Nice to Vintimille. 

Personally conducted tourists make the trip 
in brakes and char-a-bancs via Mont Gros and 
its observatory, the Col des Quatre Chemins, 
by Eze perched on its pyramidal rock, and La 
Turbie with its memories of Augustus, until 
they descend, either via Roquebrune to Menton, 
or by the steeps of La Turbie to Monte Carlo 
and its "distractions de haut gout." 

It is all very wonderful and, to the traveller 
who makes the trip for the first time or the 
hundredth, the beauties of the panorama which 
unfolds at every white kilometre stone is so 
totally different from that which he has just 
passed that he wonders if he is not journey- 
ing on some sort of a magic carpet which sim- 
ply floats in space. Certainly there is no more 
beautiful view-point in all the world than that 
from the height overlooking Monaco, Monte 
Carlo, and Cap Martin, all bedded like jewels 
amid an inconceivable brilliancy and softness, 
a combination which seems paradoxical enough 
in print, but which in real life is quite the re- 
verse, although it is ravishingly beautiful 
enough to be unreal. 

The twenty-franc excursionists from Nice 
are rushed out from town in the early morn- 



352 Rambles on the Riviera 

ing, via '' La Grande Corniclie," to Menton, 
and back in the early afternoon via the ' ' Eoute 
du Bord du Mer," at something like the speed 
that the malle-poste of other days used to 
thread the great national roadways of France. 
Really the excursion is quite worth the money, 
and you do cover the ground, but you cover 
it much too rapidly, and so do the speeding 
automobilists. By far the best way to drink 
in all the beauties of this delightful promenade 
is to devote a week to it, and do it on foot. 
Walking tours are not fashionable any more, 
and in many thousands of miles of travel by 
road in France, the writer has never so much 
as walked between neighbouring villages, but 
some day that promenade au pied is going to 
be made on the " Corniche " between Nice and 
Menton, returning, as do the ^' trippers," via 
the lower road through Monte Carlo, La Con- 
damine, and Beaulieu. It is the only way to 
appreciate the artistic beauties, and the stra- 
tegic value, of this great highway of a civiliza- 
tion of another day, whose life, if not as refined 
as that of the present, could hardly have been 
more dissolute than that which to-day goes on 
to some extent here in this playground of the 
world. 

One should make the journey out by the 



Villefranche and the Fortifications 353 

'■ ' Corniclie ' ' and back by the waterside, lunch- 
ing at the auberge at Eze off an anchovy or 
two, a handful of dried figs, and a flagon of 
thick, red, perfumed wine. Then he will indeed 
think life worth living, and regret that such 
things as railway trains, automobiles, and pal- 
ace hotels ever existed. 

Beyond Nice the Corniche route toward Italy 
is ample and majestic throughout its whole 
course, though, as a whole, it is no more beau- 
tiful than that Corniche by the Esterel. It 
winds around Mont Gros, at the back of Nice, 
and reaches its greatest height just beyond the 
Auberge de la Drette. En route, at least alter 
passing the Col des Quatre Chemins, there is 
that ever-present panorama of the Mediterra- 
nean blue which all Frenchmen, and most dwell- 
ers on its shores, and some others besides, con- 
sider the most beautiful bit of water in the 
world. 

To know the full charms of the road from 
Nice to Villefranche and Beaulieu one should 
start early in the morning, say in April or even 
May, when, to him who has only known the 
Eiviera in the winter months, the very liquid- 
ness of the atmosphere and the landscape will 
be a revelation. All is impregnated with a 
penetrating gentle light, under which the house 



354 Rambles on the Riviera 

walls, the roadway, the waves, the rocks, and 
the foliage take on a subtle tone which is quite 
indescribable and quite different from the arti- 
ficiality which is more or less present all 
through the Riviera towns in winter. There 
is a difference, too, from the sun-baked dryness 
of the dead of summer. Each rock, each cliff, 
each bank of sand, and each wavelet of the 
Mediterranean has a note which forms the one 
tone needful for the gamut which is played 
upon one's emotions. 

Rounding Mont Boron by the coast road, one 
soon comes to Villefranche, whose very name 
indicates the privileges which were accorded to 
it by its founder, Charles II., Comte de Pro- 
vence et Roi de Naples. Built in 1295, it became 
at once a free trading port, and speedily drew 
to itself a very considerable population. Soon, 
too, it came into prominence as a military port, 
and the Dues de Savoie made it their chief 
arsenal. 

To-day Villefranche occupies a very equiv- 
ocal position. It has a population of some^Mng 
over five thousand souls, and its splendid har- 
bour gives it a prominence in naval circles 
which is well deserved; but, in spite of this, 
the town has none of the attributes of the other 
Riviera coast towns and cities. 



Villefranche and the Fortifications 355 

The prevailing note of Villefranche is Ori- 
ental, with its house walls kalsomined in red, 
blue, and pink, in ravishingly delicate and pic- 
turesque tones; really a great improvement, 
from every point of view, to the whitewash of 
Anglo-Saxon lands. The French name for this 
species of decoration is the worst thing about 
it, and, unless one has a considerable French 
vocabulary, the word *' hadigeonee '' means 
nothing. Another exotic in the way of nomen- 
clature which one meets at Villefranche is 
moucharahieh, which is not found in many dic- 
tionaries of the French language. A mouch- 
arahieh is nothing more or less than a unique 
variety of window screen or blind, behind 
which, taking into account the Eastern aspect 
of all things in Villefranche, one needs only 
to see the beautiful head of an Oriental maiden 
to imagine himself in far Arabia. 

It is but a step beyond Villefranche to Beau- 
lieu and ^^ La Petite Afrique/' generally 
thought to be the most exclusive and retired 
of all the Riviera resorts. To a great extent 
this is so, though the scorching automobilists 
of the nouveau-riche variety have covered its 
giant olive-trees with a powdery whiteness 
which has considerably paled their already 
delicate gray tones. 



356 



Rambles on the Riviera 



Between Villefranclie and Beaulieu is the 
peninsula of St. Jean, washed by the waves 
on either side and as indented and jagged as 
the shores of Greece. To-day it has become 



r-h. 




Villa of Leopold, King of Belgium 

an annex of Nice, with opulent villas of kings, 
princes, and millionaires, from Leopold, King 
of Belgium down. 

At St. Jean-sur-Mer, midway down the penin- 
sula, is a little fishing village, still quaint and 
unspoiled amid all the splendours of the palaces 



Villefranche and the Fortifications 357 

of kings and villas of millionaires, which have 
of late grown so plentiful in this once virgin 
forest tract. There are many souvenirs here 
of the time when the neighbourhood was occu- 
pied by the Knights Hospitalers of St. John 
of Jerusalem, and there is much history and 
legend connected with them. Seaward is the 
Promontory or Pointe de St. Hospice, where 
the Due de Savoie, Emmanuel Philibert, built 
a fortification. It was an ideal spot for a 
defensive work of this nature, though it pro- 
tected nothing except what was inside. It must, 
in a former day, have been a very satisfactory 
work of its kind, as it is recorded that this 
prince, coming to view the progress of the 
work, and fallen upon by the Saracens, re- 
treated within the walls of his new defence, 
where he successfully repulsed all their attacks. 

Many times did the pirates attack this out- 
post, but finally, as the country became peace- 
ful, a hospice came to take the place of the 
warlike fortification, and from this establish- 
ment the Pointe de St. Hospice of to-day takes 
its name. 

Half-way up the foot-hills of the Alps the 
great white ribbon of the '^ Corniche " rolls 
its solitary way until La Turbie is reached. 
Here is a little village seated proudly beneath 



358 Rambles on the Riviera 

that colossal ruin, the Augustan trophy, which 
has been a marvel and subject of speculation 
for archaeologists for ages past. One thing 
seems certain, however, and that is that it was 
a monument commemorative of the submission 
of forty-five distinct peoples of western Gaul- 
to the power of Rome. 

Westward is Roquebrune, where the '' Cor- 
niche " drops to the two hundred-metre level, 
and one rapidly approaches the sea beyond 
Cap Martin, and thus reaches Menton, but two 
kilometres onward. 

The coast route from Nice to Menton via 
Villefranche and Beaulieu approximates the 
same length as the " Corniche " proper, and 
its charms are as varied. It rolls along behind 
the old citadel of Mont Boron and suddenly 
opens up the magnificent bay of Villefranche, 
the favourite Mediterranean station of the 
Russians and Americans, and thence on rap- 
idly to Beaulieu, Monte Carlo, and Menton. 

All the way this route by the sea follows the 
shore and skirts picturesque gulfs and ca- 
lanques, and now and then tunnels a hillside 
only to come out into day and a vista more 
beautiful than that which was left behind. 



CHAPTER XII. 

EZE AND LA TUEBIB 

The ancient Saracen fortress of Eze lies 
midway between Beaulieu and Monte Carlo, 
somewhat back from the coast, and crowns a 
pinnacle such as is usually devoted to the glory 
of St. Michel. 

As one climbs the steep sides of the hill, the 
fantastic outlines of the roof-tops silhouette 
themselves against the sl^ quite like a scene 
from Dante's masterpiece, or, if not that, like 
the fabled spectral Brocken. The road twists 
and turns, and the sea and shore blend them- 
selves into one of those incomparable glories 
of the Riviera, until actually one stands on the 
little plateau which moors the tiny church and 
its surrounding dwellings. 

The Eza of yesterday has become the Eze 
of to-day, but the former spelling was vastly 
more euphonic, and it is a pity that it was ever 
changed. Eze is ruinous to-day, as it has been 
for ages, and pagan and Christian monuments 
are cheek by jowl. 

359 



360 



Rambles on the Riviera 



Rising abruptly three hundred metres from 
the sea-level, the mountain offered a stronghold 
well-nigh unassailable. First the Phoenicians 
occupied it, then the Phoceans, followed by the 
Romans, the Saracens, and all the warring fac- 
tions and powers of mediaeval times. No won- 
der it is reminiscent of all, with memorials 




Eze 



ranging all the way from the temple dedicated 
to the Egyptian cult of Isis to the Christian 
church seen to-day. 

Centuries passed but slowly here, and the 
Moorish hordes, seeking for a vantage-ground 
on the Ligurian coast, took the peak for their 
own. The early founders did not need to go 



Eze and La Turbie 361 

afield for the material for the building of houses 
and their military constructions. It was all 
close at hand. The rocky base sufficed for 
all. 

What is left to-day of the old bourg, remod- 
elled and rebuilt in many cases, but still the 
original structures to no small extent, is a 
veritable museum of architectural curiosities. 

What an accented note it is in the whole vast 
expanse of green and blue! It is literally 
worth coming miles to see, even if one makes 
the wearisome journey on foot. 

Eze is sequestered from all the world, and, 
like Normandy's Mont St. Michel, would be 
an ideal place in which to shut oneself up if 
one wanted to escape from his enemies (and 
friends). 

The shrine of Notre Dame de Laghet lies 
in the country back of Eze, but rather nearer 
to La Turbie. The whole south venerated Our 
Lady of Laghet in days gone by, and came to 
worship at her shrine. The neighbouring coun- 
try is severe and less gracious than that of most 
of the flowering Riviera ; but, in the early days 
of spring, with the hardier blossoms well for- 
ward, it is as delightful an environment for 
a shrine as one can well expect to find. 

Historic souvenirs in connection with Notre 



362 Rambles on the Riviera 

Dame de Laghet are many. The Due de Savoie, 
Victor Amedee, came here to worship in 1689, 
and a century and a half later, his descendant, 
Charles Albert, shorn of his crown, and a fugi- 
tive, sought shelter here from the dangers 
which beset him. Here he knelt devoutly be- 
fore the Madonna, and prayed that his enemies 
might be forgiven. A tablet to-day memorial- 
izes the event. 

The little church of the establishment con- 
tains hundreds of votive offerings left by pious 
pilgrims, and, though architecturally the edi- 
fice is a poor, humble thing, it ranks high 
among the places of modern pilgrimage. 

A kilometre beyond the gardens which face 
the Casino at Monte Carlo is a little winding 
road leading blindly up the hillside. '' Ou 
conduit-il? " you ask of a straggler; " A La 
Turhie, m'sieu; " and forthwith you mount, 
spurning the aid of the funiculaire farther 
down the road. When one has progressed a 
hundred metres along this serpentine roadway, 
the whole ensemble of beauties with which one 
has become familiar at the coast are magnified 
and enhanced beyond belief. Nowhere is there 
a gayer, livelier colouring to be seen on the 
Riviera ; this in spite of the conventiona,lity of 
the glistening walls of the great hotels and 



Eze and La Turbie 363 



the artificial gardens with which the vicinity 
of the paradise of Monte Carlo abounds. 

As one turns another hairpin corner, another 
plane of the horizon opens out until, after pass- 
ing Various isolated small houses, and zigzag- 
ging upward another couple of kilometres, he 
enters upon the '' Eoute d 'Italic," and thence 
either turns to the left to La Turbie, or to the 
right to Eoquebrune, a half-dozen kilometres 
farther on. 

La Turbie is quite as much of an exotic as 
Eze. It is as vivid a reminder of a glory that 
is past as any monumental town still extant, 
and its noble Augustan Trophy, as a memorial 
of a historical past, is far greater than any- 
thing of its kind out of Rome itself. There is 
something almost sublime about this great sky- 
piercing tower, a monument to the vanquishing 
of the peoples of Gaul by the Roman legions. 

Fragments of this great ^' trophy " have 
been carted away, and are to be found all over 
the neighbouring country. Barbarians and 
Saracens, one and all, pillaged the noble tower 
(^' the magnificent witness to the powers of 
the divine Augustus, ' ' as the French historians 
call it), using it as a quarry from which was 
drawn the building material for many of their 
later works. Without scruple it has been shorn 



364 



Rambles on the Riviera 



of its attributes until to-day it is only a bare, 
gaunt skeleton of its former proud self. Its 
marbles have been dispersed, some are in Nice, 
some in Monaco, and some in Grenoa, but the 




Augustan Trophy, La Turhie 



greatest of all the indignities which the edifice 
underwent was that thrust upon it by Berwick, 
in 1706, when attempts were actually made to 
pull it to the ground. 

What its splendours must once have been 



Eze and La Turbie 365 

may best be imagined from the following de- 
scription: 

" A massive quadrangular tower surrounded 
with columns of the Doric order and orna- 
mented with statues of the lieutenants of Au- 
gustus, and personifications of the vanquished 
peoples. Surmounting all was a colossal statue 
of the emperor himself." 

La Turbie has a most interesting '' porte," 
once fortified, but now a mere gateway. It 
dates from the sixteenth century, and is an 
exceedingly satisfying example of what a medi- 
aeval gateway was in feudal times. 

The church of the town is of great size and 
well kept, but otherwise is in no way remark- 
able. 

As with the founders of Eze, the builders of 
La Turbie and its great Augustan Trophy had 
their material close at hand, and there was no 
need for the laborious carrying of material 
from a distance which accompanied the build- 
ing of many mediaeval monuments and forti- 
fications. 

A quarry was to be made anywhere that one 
chose to dig in the hillside, and, though no 
traces of the exact location whence the mate- 
rial was dug is to be seen to-day, there is no 
question but that it was a home product. The 



366 Rambles on the Riviera 

marbles and statues alone were brought from 
afar. 

Eoquebrune, onward toward Menton, is more 
individual in the character of its people and 
their manners and customs than any of the 
other towns and villages near the great Rivi- 
era pleasure resorts. The ground is cultivated 
in small plots, and olive and fruit trees abound, 
and occasionally, sheltered on a little terrace, 
is a tiny vineyard struggling to make its way. 
The vine, curiously enough, does not prosper 
well here, at least not the extent that it for- 
merly did, and accordingly it is a good deal of 
a struggle to get a satisfactory crop, no matter 
how favourable the season. 

Here in the vicinity of Eoquebrune one sees 
the little donkeys so well known throughout the 
mountainous parts of Italy and France. They 
are sure-footed little beasts, like their brother 
burros of the Sierras and the Rockies, and ap- 
pear not to differ from them in the least, unless 
they are smaller. All through the region to 
the northward of the coast they file in caval- 
cades, bearing their burdens in panniers and 
saddle-bags in quite century-old fashion, and 
as if automobiles and railways had never been 
heard of. An automobile would have a hard 
time of it on some of the by-roads accessible 



Eze and La Turbie 367 

only to these tiny beasts of burden, which often 
weigh but eighty kilos and cost little or noth- 
ing for provender. 

These little Savoian donkeys are gentle and 
good-natured, but obstinate when it comes to 
pushing on at a gait which the driver may wish, 
but which has not yet dawned upon the donkey 
as being desirable. This, apparently, is the 
national trait of the whole donkey kingdom, 
so there is nothing remarkable about it. He 
will go, — when you twist his tail, — and if 
you twist it to the right he will turn to the 
left, and vice versa. A sailor would be quite 
at home with a donkey of Roquebrune. 

Eoquebrune is tranquil enough to-day, though 
there have been times when the rocky giant on 
whose bosom it sleeps awakened with a roar 
which shook the very foundations of its houses. 
These earthquakes have not been frequent ; the 
last was in 1887; but the memory of it is 
enough to give fear to the timid whenever a 
summer thunder-storm breaks forth. 

Eoquebrune occupies a height very much in- 
ferior to that on which sits La Turbie; but 
the panorama from the town is in no way less 
marvellous, nor is it greatly different, hence 
it is not necessary to recount its beauties here. 



368 Rambles on the Riviera 

There is considerably more vegetation in the 
neighbourhood, and there are many lemon-trees, 
with rich ripening fruit, instead of the dwarfed 
unripe oranges which one finds at many other 
places along the Eiviera. 

The lemon-tree is the real thermometer of the 
region, and the inhabitant has no need of the 
appliances of Reaumur or Fahrenheit, or the 
more facile Centigrade, for when three degrees 
of frost strikes in through the skin of the lemon, 
it withers up and dies. The orange, curiously 
enough, resists this first attack of cold. 

Roquebrune, like La Turbie, abounds in 
vaulted streets and terraced hillsides, allowing 
one to step from the roofs of one line of houses 
to the dooryards of another in most quaint 
and picturesque fashion. The people of Roque- 
brune are a prosperous and contented lot, and 
have the reputation of being " as laborious 
as the bee and as economical as the ant." 

At the highest point, above most of the roof- 
tops of Roquebrune, are found the ruins of 
its chateau, in turn a one-time possession of 
the Lascaris and the Grimaldi, and belonging 
to the latter family when the town and Menton 
were ceded to France. From the platform of 
the ancient citadel one readily enough sees the 




A Roqitebnine Doonvay 



Eze and La Turbie 369 

point of the legend which describes Eoquebrune 
as once having occupied the very summit of 
the height, and, in the course of ages, slipping 
down to its present position. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

OLD MONACO AND NEW MONTE CAKLO 

* ' Old Monaco and New Monte Carlo ' ' might 
well be made the title of a book, for their 
stories have never been entirely told in respect 
to their relations to the world of past and pres- 
ent. Certainly the question of the morality 
or immorality of the present institution of 
Monte Carlo, called by the narrow-minded a 
'' gambling-hell," has never been thrashed out 
in all its aspects. Instead of being a blight, 
it may be just a safety-valve which works for 
the good of the world. It is something to have 
one spot where all the " swell mobsmen " of 
the world congregate, or, at least, pass, sooner 
or later, for, like " Shepheards " at Cairo and 
the '' Cafe de la Paix " at Paris, Monte Carlo 
sooner or later is visited by all the world, the 
moralists to whine and deplore all its loveli- 
ness being wasted on the evil-doer, the preacher 
out of curiosity (as he invariably tells you, 
and probably this is so) ; the sentimental young 
girls and their mammas to be seen and to see 

370 



Old Monaco and New Monte Carlo 371 

and (perhaps?) to play, and the pleasure-lov- 
ing and the care-worn business man — for nine 




MOMT< CA«LD 



NACO 



years and nine months out of ten — to play a 
little, and, when they have lost all they can 
afford, to withdraw without a regret. There 
is another class, several other classes in fact, 



372 Rambles on the Riviera 

but it is assumed that they need not be men- 
tioned here. 

Unquestionably there are many tragedies 
consummated at Monte Carlo, and all because 
of the tables, and it is also true thq,t the same 
sort of tragedies take place in Paris, London, 
and New York, but it isn't the gambling craze 
alone that has brought them about, and, any- 
way, one can come to Monte Carlo and have 
a very good time, and not become addicted to 
*' the game." To be sure not many do, but 
that is the fault of the individual and not the 
*' Administration," that all-powerful anony- 
mous body which controls the whole conduct 
of affairs at Monte Carlo. 

Some one has remarked the seemingly sig- 
nificant coat of arms of the present reigning 
Prince of Monaco, but assuredly he had very 
little knowledge of heraldry to assume that it 
had anything to do with the pleasure-making 
suburb of the capital of the Principality. It 
seems well enough to make mention of the fact 
here, if only to explode one of the fabulous 
tales which pass current among that class of 
tourists who come here, and, having hazarded 
a couple of coins at the tables, go home and 
mouth their adventures to awed acquaintances. 
Their tales of fearful adventure, and the anec- 



Old Monaco and New Monte Carlo 373 

dote that the blazoning of the arms of the 
reigning prince represents the layout of the 
gaming-tables, are really too threadbare and 
thin to pass current any longer. 

To many the Riviera means that '' beautiful, 
subtle, sinister place, Monte Carlo," and in- 
deed it is the most idyllically situated of the 
whole little paradise of coast towns from Mar- 
seilles to Genoa, and perhaps in all the world. 

Whatever the moral aspect of Monte Carlo 
is or is not, there is no doubt but that it is one 
of the best paying enterprises in the amuse- 
ment world, else how could M. Blanc have lived 
in a palace which kings might envy, and have 
kept the most famous string of race-horses in 
France. Certainly not out of a ' ' losing game. ' ' 
He himself made a classic bon mot when he 
said, '' Rouge gagne quelquefois, noir souvent, 
mais Blanc toujours/' 

M. Blanc was a singularly astute individual. 
He knew his game and he played it well, or 
rather his tables and his croupiers did it for 
him, and he even welcomed men with systems 
which they fondly believed would sooner or 
later break the bank, for he knew that the best 
of '* systems " would but add to the profits 
of the bank in the long run. He even answered 
an inquisitive person, who wanted to know how 



374 Rambles on the Riviera 

one should gamble in order to win: " The most 
sensible advice I can give you is — ' Don't.' " 

One reads in a local guide-book that the 
chances between the player and the bank, tak- 
ing all the varieties of games into considera- 
tion, is as 60 to 61, and that the winnings of 
the bank were something like £1,000,000 ster- 
ling per year. This would seem to mean that 
the players of Europe and America took £61,- 
000,000 to Monte Carlo each year, and brought 
away £60,000,000, leaving £1,000,000 behind as 
the price of their pleasure. The magnitude of 
these figures is staggering, and so able a 
statistician as Sir Hiram Maxim refuted them 
utterly a couple of years ago as follows : 

'' If the bank actually won one million ster- 
ling a year, and its chances were only 1 in 60 
better than the players, it would seem quite 
evident that sixty-one millions must have been 
staked. However, upon visiting Monte Carlo 
and carefully studying the play, I found that 
instead of the players taking £61,000,000 to 
Monte Carlo, and losing £1,000,000 of it, the 
total amount probably did not exceed £1,000,- 
000, of which the bank, instead of winning, as 
shown in the guide-book, about II/2 per cent., 
actually won rather more than 90 per cent.; 
therefore, the advantages in favour of the bank, 



Old Monaco and New Monte Carlo 375 

instead of being 61 to 60, were approximately 
10 to 1." 

This ought to correct any preconceived false 
notions of percentages and sum totals. 

The law of averages is a very simple thing 
in which most people, in respect to gambling, 
and many other matters, have a supreme faith ; 
but Sir Hiram disposes of this in a very few 
words. He says : ' ' Let us see what the actual 
facts are. 

*' If red has come up twenty times in suc- 
cession, it is just as likely to come up at the 
twenty-first time as it would be if it had not 
come up before for a week. Each particular 
' coup ' is governed altogether by the physical 
conditions existing at that particular instant. 
The ball spins round a great many times in a 
groove. When its momentum is used up, it 
comes in contact with several pieces of brass, 
and finally tumbles into a pocket in the wheel 
which is rotating in an opposite direction. It 
is a pure and unadulterated question of chance, 
and it is not influenced in the least by anything 
which has ever taken place before, or that will 
take place in the future." 

Thus vanish all '' systems " and note-books, 
and all the schemes and devices by which 
the deluded punter hopes to beat M. Blanc at his 



376 Eambles on the Riviera 

own game. It is possible to play at " Rouge et 
Noir " at Monte Carlo and win, — if you don't 
play too long, and luck is not against you ; but 
if you stick at it long enough, you are sure to 
lose. There was once a man who went to Monte 
Carlo and played the very simple '* Rouge et 
Noir ^' in a sane and moderate fashion, and 
in three years was the winner by twenty-five 
thousand francs. He returned the fourth year, 
and in three weeks lost it all, and another ten 
thousand besides. He gave up the amusement 
from that time forward as being too expensive 
for the pleasure that one got out of it. 

As a business proposition, the modestly 
titled " Societe Anonyme des Bains de Mer et 
Cercle des Eitrangers " (for it is well to recall 
that the inhabitants of Monte Carlo are for- 
bidden entrance, their morals, at least, being 
taken into consideration) is of the very first 
rank. It earned for its shareholders in 1904-05 
the magnificent sum of thirty-six million francs, 
an increase within the year of some two mil- 
lions. It is steadily becoming more prosperous, 
and the businesslike prince who rents out the 
concession has had his salary raised from 
1,250,000 francs to 1,750,000 francs per annum, 
on an agreement to run for fifty years longer. 

By those who know it is a well-recognized 



Old Monaco and New Monte Carlo 377 

fact that the bank at Monte Carlo loses more 
by fraud than by any defects in its system of 
play. From the pages of that unique example 
of modern journalism, '^ Eouge et Noir — 
L'Organe de Defense des Joueurs de Eoulette 
et de Trente-et-Quarante, " are culled the two 
following incidents : 

A certain gambler, Ardisson by name, bribed 
a croupier to insert a specially shuffled pack 
into the '' Trente-et-Quarante " game one fine 
evening, during an interval when attention was 
diverted by a female accomplice having dropped 
a roll of louis on the floor. After eight abnor- 
mal '' coups," the bank succumbed, — " la so- 
ciete se retire majestueusement," the informa- 
tive sheet puts it, — 180,000 francs out of 
pocket. The swindler — for all gamblers are 
not swindlers — and his accomplice, or accom- 
plices, made their way safely across the fron- 
tier, and the only echo of the event was heard 
when the guilty croupier was sentenced to two 
months ' imprisonment, — a period of confine- 
ment for which he was doubtless well paid. 

Another incident recounted in this most in- 
teresting newspaper was that of one Jaggers, 
an Englishman from Yorkshire, where all men 
,are singularly knowing. This individual dis- 
covered that one of the roulette-wheels had a 



378 Eambles on the Riviera 

distinct tendency toward a certain number. 
His persistency in backing that number at- 
tracted the attention of the bank's detectives, 
who marvelled at his continued run of luck. 
Eventually the authorities solved the problem, 
and now the roulette-wheels are interchange- 
able, and are moved daily from one set of bear- 
ings to another. 

Once it was planned to explode a bomb near 
the gas-metre in the basement, and in the ex- 
citement, after the lights went out, to rob the 
tables and players alike. This plan was con- 
ceived by a gang of ordinary thieves, who 
needed no great intelligence to concoct such 
a scheme, which, needless to say, was nipped 
in the bud. 

Some years ago the game was played with 
counters which were bought at a little side- 
table. A gang of counterfeiters made these 
in duplicate, and had a considerable haul before 
the trick was discovered. The museum of the 
Casino has many of these unstable records, but 
a change was immediately made in favour of 
five-franc pieces, louis, and notes of the Banque 
de France, which are no more likely to be coun- 
terfeited for playing the tables at Monte Carlo 
than they are for general purposes of trade. 

Formerly one could wager a great '^ pill- 



Old Monaco and New Monte Carlo 379 

box ' ' roll of five-franc pieces done up in paper, 
— twenty of them to the hundred, — but to-day 
the envelope must be broken open. Some one 
won a lot of money once with some similar rolls 
of iron, which, until the daily or weekly inven- 
tory on the part of the bank, were not discov- 
ered to be foreign to the coin of the realm. 

There are two sides to the life and environ- 
ment of Monaco and Monte Carlo; there is 
the beautiful and gay side, for the lover of 
charming vistas and a lovely climate ; and there 
is the practical, dark, and sordid side, of which 
** the game " is the all. 

Much has been written of the moral or im- 
moral aspect of the place, and the discussion 
shall have no place here. The reader will find 
it all set out again in his daily, weekly, or 
monthly journal sometime during the present 
year, as it has appeared perennially for many 
years. 

Monaco is old and Monte Carlo is new. The 
history of Monaco runs back for many cen- 
turies. The Phoenicians built a temple to Her- 
cules here long before its political history be- 
gan; then for a time it was a rendezvous for 
pirates, and finally it fell to the Genoese Re- 
public. Jean II. became the seigneur, and left 
it to his propre frere, Lucien Grimaldi, the 



380 Rambles on the Riviera 

ancestor of the present house of Grimaldi, to 
whom the princes of to-day belong. Thus it 
is that the Prince of Monaco, though the sov- 
ereign of the smallest political state of Europe, 
belongs to the oldest reigning house. Monaco 
is a relic of the ages past, but Monte Carlo 
is a thing of yesterday. 

Monte Carlo is the result of the labours of 
M. Blanc, who, though not the creator of the 
vast enterprise as it exists to-day, was the real 
developer of the scheme. He attained great 
wealth and distinction, as is borne out by the 
fact that he lived luxuriously and was able to 
marry his daughters to princes of the great 
house of Napoleon. 

Blanc showed his business acumen when he 
got a concession from the Prince of Monaco to 
run a gambling-machine at Monte Carlo. He 
got the concession first, and then bought out 
a weak, puny establishment which was already 
in operation, after having made the proprietors 
a proposition which he gave them two hours to 
accept or reject. The contract closed, he ar- 
ranged inunediately to begin the new Casino 
with Garnier, the designer of the Paris Opera, 
as his architect. Opposite it he built the Hotel 
de Paris, which has the deserved reputation 
of being the most expensive hotel in existence. 



Old Monaco and New Monte Carlo 381 

Like everything else at Monte Carlo, you get 
your money's worth, but things are not cheap. 
The Prince of Monaco generously gave his 
name to the place, and the enterprise — for at 
this time it was nothing more than a great 
collective enterprise — was christened Monte 
Carlo. 

Everything comes to him who waits, and soon 
the Paris, Lyons, and Mediterranean Railway 
extended its line to the gay little city of pleas- 
ure, in spite of the pressure brought to bear 
by other Riviera cities and towns to the west- 
.ward. Thus the place started, almost at once, 
as a full-grown and lusty grabber of the peo- 
ple's money, always wanting more; and the 
world came on luxurious trains, whereas for- 
merly they made their way by a cranky little 
steamboat from Nice, or by the coach-and-four 
of other days. 

Like most successful handlers of other peo- 
ple's money, Blanc was a reader of man's emo- 
tions. He knew his customers, and he knew 
that many of them were the scum of the earth, 
and he guarded carefully against allowing them 
too much freedom. He may have feared his 
life, or he may have feared capture for ransom, 
like missionaries and political suspects, and 
for this reason M. Blanc went about with never 



382 Rambles on the Riviera 

a penny on his person. He carried a blank 
cheque, however, printed, it is said, in red ink 
— for the old-stager at Monte Carlo still likes 
to regale the nouveau with the tale — and good 
for several hundred thousand francs. The 
" man in the box " had very explicit instruc- 
tions never to pay this cheque, should it turn 
up, unless he had previously received a tele- 
gram ordering him to do so. It will not take 
the sagacity of a Dupin or a Sherlock Holmes 
to evolve the reason for this, but it was a 
clever idea nevertheless. 

In case any of the curious really want to 
know how the game is played, the following 
facts are given; 

Blanc's organization was well-nigh a per- 
fect one, and, though its founder is now dead, 
it remains the same. The staff is a large one. 
At the head is an administrator-general, who 
has three collaborators, also known as admin- 
istrators, one who conducts the affairs of the 
outside world, has charge of the supplies for 
the establishment, and the arrangements for 
the pigeon-shooting, the automobile boat-races, 
the care of the gardens, etc. ; another holds the 
purse-strings and is a sort of head cashier; 
and the third has charge of the tables and their 
personnel. 



Old Monaco and New Monte Carlo 383 




384 Rambles on the Riviera 

Under this last is a director of the games, 
three assistant directors, four chefs-de-table, 
— which sounds as though they might be cooks, 
but who in reality are something far different; 
then come five inspectors, and fourteen chiefs 
of the roulette-tables, and all of them are a 
pretty high-salaried class of employee, as such 
things go in Europe. 

The chiefs of the roulette-tables draw seven 
and five hundred francs a month, for very short 
hours and easy work. 

There are two classes of dealers, — croupiers 
at the roulette-tables and tailleurs at " trente- 
et-quarante," each of whom receive from four 
to six hundred francs a month, according to 
their experience. 

The apprentices, who some day expect to 
become croupiers, — those who do the raking 
in, — receive two hundred francs a month. All, 
however, are under an espionage in all their 
sleeping, waking, and working moments as keen 
and observant as if they were bank messengers 
in Wall Street. 

Each roulette-table has a chef and a sous- 
chef and seven croupiers, who are expected, 
it is said, to keep their hands spread open be- 
fore them on the table between all the turns 
of the wheel. A story is told, which may or 



Old Monaco and New Monte Carlo 385 

may not be true, of a croupier who was inor- 
dinately fond of taking snuff. It seemed curi- 
ous that a coin should always adhere to the 
bottom of his snuff-box whenever he laid it 
down upon the table, and accordingly that par- 
ticular croupier was banished and the practice 
forbidden. 

Another had built himself a nickle-in-the-slot 
arrangement which, with remarkable celerity, 
conducted twenty-franc pieces from somewhere 
on the rim of his exceedingly tall and stiff col- 
lar to an unseen money-belt. Every time he 
scratched his ear, or slapped at an imaginary 
mosquito, it cost the bank a gold piece. Now 
high collars are banished and mosquito-netting 
is at every door and window. 

No employee is allowed to play, nor are the 
Monegasques themselves. All nations are rep- 
resented in the establishment, French, Italian, 
Eussians, Belgians, and Swiss. Once there was 
a croupier who spoke English so perfectly that 
he might be taken for an Englishman or an 
American, but he proved to be a native of the 
little land of dikes and windmills, where they 
teach English in the schools to the youth of 
a tender age. 

The French language reigns and French 
money is used exclusively. You may cash sov- 



386 ^ Rambles on the Riviera 

ereigns and eagles at the bureau, and you may 
do your banking business at the counters of 
the * ' Credit-Lyonnais, ' ' which discreetly hangs 
out its shingle just over the border on French 
territory, though not a stone's flight from the 
Casino portals. You know this because be- 
neath their sign you read another in bold, flar- 
ing letters, as if it were the most important 
of all, ''On French Soil" 

The three towns of the Principality of Mo- 
naco each present a totally different aspect; 
but, in spite of all its loveliness, one's love for 
Monte Carlo is a sensuous sort of a thing, and 
it is with a real relief that he turns to admire 
Monaco itself. 

Its story has often been told, but there al- 
ways seems something new to learn of it. The 
writer always knew that its flora was to be 
remarked, even among those horticultural ex- 
otics scattered so bountifully all over the Rivi- 
era, and that, apparently, the Monegasques had 
the art instinct highly developed, as evinced 
by the many beautiful monuments and build- 
ings of the capital; but it was only recently 
that he realized the excellence of the typo- 
graphical art of the printers of Monaco. These 
craftsmen have reached a high degree of pro- 
ficiency and taste, as evinced by that most 



Old Monaco and New Monte Carlo 387 

excellent production, the "Collection de Docu- 
ments Historiques," published by the archivist 
of the Principality, and the '' Resultats des 
Campagnes Scientifiques Accomplies sur son 
Yacht, par S. A. le Prince Albert de Monaco." 

Authors the world over might well wish their 
works produced with so much excellence of ty- 
pography and so rich a format and impression. 

Monaco, small and restricted as it is, is full 
of surprises and anomalies. It has a ruling 
monarch, a palace, an army, — of sixty odd, 
all told, — a bishop and a cathedral all its very 
own, though the Principality is but three and 
a half kilometres in length and slightly more 
than a kilometre in width, its only rival for 
minuteness being the former province of Heli- 
goland. 

The reigning prince has a military staff com- 
posed of two aides-de-camp, an ordnance officer, 
and a chief of staff. He has also a grand and 
honorary almoner, a chaplain and a chamber- 
Iain, several state secretaries, a librarian, and 
an archivist, — besides another staff devoted to 
his oceanographical hobby. There are, of 
course, many other functionaries, like those one 
reads of in swashbuckler novels, and the list 
closes with an '' Architect-Conservator of the 
Palaces of His Serene Highness." 



388 Rambles on the Riviera 

After the prince comes the Principality, and 
it, too, has a long list of guardians and office- 
holders. There is a governor-general, who 
is usually a titled person, a treasurer, and, of 
course, an auditor, and there is a registrar of 
the tobacco traffic and a registrar of the match 
trade, two monopolies by which all well-regu- 
lated Latin governments set much store. 

Finally there is the municipal governmental 
organization, with the regulation coterie of lit- 
tle-worked office-holders. They may have their 
bosses and their games of '' graft " here, or 
they may not, but they are sure to have a never- 
ending supply of red tape if you want to cut 
a gateway through your garden wall or sweep 
your chimney down. 

There is also an official newspaper known 
as Le Journal de Monaco. 

The church is better represented here than 
in most communities of its size. A monseigneur 
is chaplain to the prince, and Monaco, through 
the consideration of Leo XIIL, in 1887, is the 
proud possessor of its own cathedral church 
and its dignitary. 

To arrive on the terraces of Monte Carlo 
at twilight, on a spring-time or autumn eve- 
ning, is one of the great episodes in one's life. 
You are surrounded by an atmosphere which 



Old Monaco and New Monte Carlo 389 

is balsamic and perfumed as one imagines the 
Garden of Eden might have been. All the arti- 
ficiality of the place is lost in the softening 
shadows, and all is as like unto fairy-land as 
one will be likely to find on this earth. The 
lovely gardens, the gracious architecture, the 
myriads of lights just twinkling into existence, 
the hum of life, the moaning and plashing of 
the waves on the rocky shores beneath, and, 
above, a canopy of palms lifting their heads 
to the sky, all unite to produce this unpar- 
alleled charm. 

When one considers that fifty years ago the 
Monte Carlo rock was as bald and bare as Mont 
Blanc or Pike's Peak, it speaks wonders for 
art, or artificiality, or whatever one chooses 
to call it, that it could have been made to blos- 
som thus. 

On a fine morning the effect, too, is equally 
entrancing, — " Onze heure, c'est I'heure ex- 
quise." The miracle of brilliancy of sea and 
sky is nowhere excelled in the known world, 
and, if the raucous sounds of the railway and 
the electric tram do break the harmony some- 
what, there is still left the admirable works 
of the hand of nature and man, who have here 
planned together to give an ensemble which, 



390 Rambles on the Riviera 

in its appealing loveliness, far outweiglis the 
discord of mundane things. 

One is astonished at it all, and, whether he 
approves or disaproves of the morality of 
Monte Carlo, he is bound to endorse the opin- 
ion that its loveliness and luxury is superla- 
tive. 

The Principality of Monaco, like those other 
petty states, Andorra and San Marino, comes 
very near to being a burlesque of the greater 
powers that surround it. It is not France; 
it is not Italy; it is a power all by itself; the 
most diminutive among the monarchies of the 
world, but, all things considered, one of the 
wealthiest and best kept of all the states of 
Europe. Monaco, the town, has a population 
of over eight thousand per square kilometre, 
while its nearest rival among the states of 
Europe, for density of population, is Belgium, 
of a population of but two hundred to the 
same area. 

From the heights above Monte Carlo one 
sees a map of it all spread out before him in 
relief, the three towns, Monte Carlo, Conda- 
mine, and Monaco, with their total of fifteen 
thousand souls and the most marvellous setting 
which was ever given man's habitation outside 
of Eden, 




B -AfMAnuS 



Overlooking Mofiaco and Monte Carlo 



Old Monaco and New Monte Carlo 391 

The capital sits proudly on its sea- jutting 
promontory, with Condamine, its port, where 
the neck joins the mainland, and Monte Carlo, 
the faubourg of pleasure, immediately adjoin- 
ing on the right. All is white, green, and blue, 
and of the most brilliant tone throughout. 

Monaco was a microcosm in size even when 
Eoquebrune and Menton made a part of its 
domain, and to-day it is much less in area. It 
was in the dark days of the French Eevolution 
that the little principality was rent in frag- 
ments, and there were left only the rock and 
its two dependencies for the present Albert 
de Goyon-Matignon, the descendant of the 
Marechal de Matignon, to rule over. It was 
this Marechal de Matignon, then Due de Valen- 
tinois, who espoused the heiress of the glorious 
house of Grimaldi, thus bringing the Grimaldi 
into alliance with the present power of this 
kingdom-in-little . 

What a kingdom it is, to be sure ! "What a 
highly organized monarchy ! There is a council 
of state ; a tribunal, with its judges and advo- 
cates; a captain of the port; a registry for 
loans and mortgages; an inspector of public 
works, etc., etc.; and all the functionaries are 
as awe-inspiring and terrible as such officers 
usually are. Even the ** Commandant de la 



392 Rambles on the Riviera 

Garde," to give him his real title, is a sort of 
minister of war, and he is, too, a retired French 
officer of high rank. 

The Frenchman when he crosses the frontier 
into Monaco literally journeys abroad. The 
frontier patrol is a gorgeous sort of an indi- 
vidual by himself, a sort of a cross between the 
gardien de la paix of France and the Italian 
customs officer who comes into the carriages of 
the personally conducted tourists to Italy 
searching for contraband matches and salt, — 
as if any civilized person would attempt to 
smuggle these unwholesome things anyway. 

As one enters the Principality, by the road 
coming from Nice, he passes between the rock 
and the steep hillsides by the Boulevard 
Charles III., and, turning to the right, enters 
the town where is the seat of government. 

The town has some three thousand odd in- 
habitants, which is a good many for the '' mi- 
gnonne cite," of which one makes the round in 
ten minutes. But what a round ! A promenade 
without a rival in the world ! Well-kept houses, 
villas, and palaces at every turn, with a fringe 
of rocky escarpment, and here and there a plot 
of luxuriant soil which gives a foothold to the 
fig-trees of Barbary, aloes, olive and orange 



Old Monaco and New Monte Carlo 393 

trees, giant geraniums, lauriers-roses and all 
the flora of a subtropical climate. 

The inhabitant of the Principality of Monaco 
is fortunate in more ways than one; he is not 
taxed by the impot, and he does not contribute 
a sou to the civil list of the prince. '' The 
game " pays all this, and, since its profits 
mostly come from those who can afford to pay, 
who shall not say that it is a blessing rather 
than a curse. Another thing: the Mone- 
gasques, the descendants of the original na- 
tives, are all " gentilshommes," by reason of 
the ennobling of their ancestors by Charles 
Quint. 

By a sinuous route one descends from Mo- 
naco to La Condamine, the most populous cen- 
tre in the Principality, built between the rock 
of Monaco and the hill of Monte Carlo. Five 
hundred metres farther on, but upward, and 
one is on the plateau of Spelugues, a name now 
changed to Monte Carlo. 

It is with a certain hypocrisy, of course, that 
the frequenters of Monte Carlo rave about its 
charms and its resemblance to Florence or to 
Athens ; they come there for the game and the 
social distractions which it offers, and that's 
all there is about it. It is all very fascinating 
nevertheless. 



394 Rambles on the Riviera 

All the splendour of Monte Carlo, and it is 
splendid in all its appointments without a 
doubt, is but a mask for the comings and go- 
ings of the gambler's hopes and those who live 
off of his passion. 

A true philosopher will not cavil at this ; the 
sea is the most delightful blue ; the background 
one of the most entrancing to be seen in a 
world's tour; and all the necessaries and re- 
finements of life are here in the most super- 
lative degree. "Who would, or could, moralize 
under such conditions? It's enough to bring 
a smile of contentment to the countenance of 
the most confirmed and blase dyspeptic who 
ever lived. 

But is it needful to avow that one quits all 
the luxury of Monte Carlo with a certain sigh 
of relief? All this splendour finally palls, and 
one seeks the byways again with genuine pleas- 
ure, or, if not the byways, the highways, and, 
as the road leads him onward to Menton and 
the Italian frontier, he finds he is still sur- 
rounded by a succession of the same landscape 
charms which he has hitherto known. There- 
fore it is not altogether with regret that he 
leaves the Principality by the back door and 
makes a mental note that Menton will be his 
next stopping-place. 



Old Monaco and New Monte Carlo 395 

It is to be feared that few of the mad throng 
of Monte Carlo pleasure-seekers ever visit the 
little parish chapel of Sainte Devote, though 
it is scarce a stone's throw off the Boulevard 
de la Condamine, and in full view of the rail- 
way carriage windows coming east or west. 
The chapel is an ordinary enough architectural 
monument, but the legend connected with its 
foundation should make it a most appealing 
place of pilgrimage for all who are fond of 
visiting religious or historic shrines. One can 
visit it in the hour usually devoted to lunch, 
— between games, so to say, — if one really 
thinks he is in the proper mood for it under 
such circumstances. 

Sainte Devote was born in Corsica, under the 
reign of Diocletian, and became a martyr for 
her faith. She was burned alive, and her re- 
mains were taken by a faithful churchman on 
board a frail bark and headed for the main- 
land coast. A tempest threw the craft out of 
its course, but an unseen voice commanded the 
priest to follow the flight of a dove which 
winged its way before them. They came to 
shore near where the present chapel stands. 
The relics of the saint were greatly venerated 
by the people of the surrounding country, who 
lavished great gifts upon the shrine. The cor- 



396 Eambles on the Riviera 

sair Antinope sought to rob the chapel of its 
tresor, in 1070, but was prevented by the faith- 
ful worshippers. 

Each year, on January 27th, the fete-day of 
the saint, a procession and rejoicing are held, 
amid a throng of pilgrims from all parts, and 
a bark is pushed off from the sands at the 
water's edge, all alight, as a symbol of protes- 
tation against the attempted piratical seizure 
of the statue and its tresor. For many cen- 
turies the Fete de Sainte Devote was presided 
over by the Abbe de St. Pons. To-day the 
Bishop of Monaco, croisered and mitred, plays 
his part in this great symbolical procession. 
It is a characteristic detail, in honour of the 
efforts of the sailor-folk of olden days in re- 
buffing the pirate who would have pillaged the 
shrine, that the bishop subordinates himself 
and gives the head of the procession to the 
representatives of the people. Altogether it 
is a ceremony of great interest and well worthy 
of more outside enthusiasm than it usually com- 
mands. The princely flag flies from Monaco's 
Palais on these occasions, whether the ruler 
be in residence or not. At other times it is 
only flown to signify the presence of the prince. 

With all its artificiality, with all its splen- 
dour of nature and the works of man, and with 




The Ravine of Saint Devote, Monte Carlo 



Old Monaco and New Monte Carlo 397 

all the historic associations of its past, one can 
but take a mingled glad and sad adieu of 
Monaco and Mont Charles. " Monaco est Men 
le reve le plus fantastique, devenue la plus 
resplendissante des realites! " 



CHAPTER XIV. 

MENTON AND THE EEONTIEK 

Menton is more tranquil than Nice or 
Cannes, and, in many ways, more adorable; 
but it is a sort of hospital and is not condu- 
cive to gaiety to the extent that it would be 
were there an utter absence of Bath chairs, 
pharmacies, and shops devoted to the sale of 
nostrums and invalid foods. There is none of 
the feverish existence of the other cities of the 
Riviera here, and, in a way, this is a detraction, 
for it is not the unspoiled countryside, either, 
but bears all the marks of the advent of an 
indulgent civilization. One might think that 
one's very existence in such a delightful spot 
might be a panacea for most of flesh's ills, but 
apparently this is not so, at least the doctors 
will not allow their ^' patients " to think so. 

Menton's port is quite extensive and is well 
sheltered from the pounding waves which here 
roll up from the Ligurian sea, at times in truly 
tempestuous fashion. To the rear the Mari- 
time Alps slope abruptly down to the sea, with 

398 



Menton and the Frontier 399 

scarce a warning before their plunge into the 
Mediterranean. All this confines Menton 
within a very small area, and there is little 
or no suburban background. In a way this 
is an advantage; it most certainly tends 
toward a mildness of the winter climate; but 
on the other hand there is lacking a sense of 
freedom and grandeur when one takes his walk 
abroad. 

Just before reaching Menton is the garden- 
spot of Cap Martin, once a densely wooded 
" petite foret," but now threaded with broad 
avenues cut through the ranks of the great 
trees and producing a wonderland of scenic 
vistas, which, if they lack the virginity of the 
wild-wood as it once was, are truly delightful 
and fairylike in their disposition. Great hotels 
and villas have come, for the Emperor of Aus- 
tria and the ex-Empress Eugenie were early 
smitten by the charms of the marvellously sit- 
uated promontory, making of it a Mediterra- 
nean retreat at once exclusive and unique. 

The panorama eastward and westward from 
this green cape is of a varied brilliancy unex- 
celled elsewhere along the Eiviera. On one 
side is Monaco's rock, Monte Carlo, and the 
enchanting banks of '' Petite Afrique," and on 



400 Rambles on the Riviera 

the other the white walls and red roofs of 
Menton. 

Between Cap Martin and Menton the road 
skirts the very water's edge, crossing the Val 
de Gorbio and entering the town via Carnoles, 
where the Princes of Monaco formerly had a 
palace. Modern Menton is like all the rest of 
the modern Riviera; its streets bordered with 
luxurious dwellings and hotels, up-to-date shop- 
fronts, and all the appointments of the age. 
At the entrance to the city is a monument com- 
memorative of the voluntary union of Menton 
and Roquebrune with France. 

Menton is a strange mixture of the old and 
the new. There are no indications of a Roman 
occupation here, though some geographers have 
traced its origin back through the night of time 
to the ancient Lumone. More likely it was 
founded by piratical hordes from the African 
coast, who, it is known, established a settle- 
ment here in the eighth century. Furthermore, 
the " Maritime Itinerary " of the conquering 
Romans makes no mention of any landing or 
harbour between Vintimille and Monaco, thus 
ignoring Menton entirely, even if they ever 
knew of it. 

The town is superbly situated in the form 
of an amphitheatre between two tiny bays, and 



Menton and the Frontier 401 

the country around is well watered by the tor- 
rents which flow down from the highland back- 
ground. 

After having been a pirate stronghold, the 
town became a part of the Comte of Vintimille, 
after the expulsion of the Saracens, and later 
had for its seigneurs a Genoese family by the 
name of Vento. In the fourteenth century it 
fell to the Grimaldi, and to this day its aspect, 
except for the rather banal hotel and villa 
architecture, has remained more Italian in mo- 
tive than French. 

Menton is not wholly an idling community 
like Monte Carlo and Monaco. It has a very 
considerable commerce in lemons, four millions 
annually of the fruit being sent out of the 
country. The industry has given rise to a 
species of labour by women which is a striking 
characteristic in these parts. Like the women 
who unload the Palermo and Seville orange 
boats at Marseilles, the '' porte'iris " of Men- 
ton are most picturesque. They carry their 
burdens always on the head, and one marvels 
at the skill with which they carry their loads 
in most awkward places. The work is hard, 
of course, but it does not seem to have devel- 
oped any weaknesses or maladies unknown to 
other peasant or labouring folk, hence there 



402 Rambles on the Riviera 

seems no reason why it should not continue. 
Certainly the Mentonnaises have a certain 
grace of carriage and suppleness in their walk 
which the dames of fashion might well imi- 
tate. 

The fishing quarter of Menton is one of the 
most picturesque on the whole Riviera, with 
its rues-escaliers, its vaulted houses, and the 
walls and escarpments of the old military forti- 
fication coming to light here and there. It is 
nothing like Martigues, in the Bouches-du- 
Rhone, really the most picturesque fishing-port 
in the world, nor is it a whit more interesting 
than the old Catalan quarter of Marseilles ; but 
it is far more varied, with the life of those who 
conduct the petty affairs of the sea, than any 
other of the Mediterranean resorts. 

Menton is something like Hyeres, a place of 
villas quite as much as of hotels, though the 
latter are of that splendid order of things that 
spell modern comfort, but which are really 
most undesirable to live in for more than a 
few days at a time. 

Not every one goes to the Eiviera to live in 
a villa, but those who do cannot do better than 
to hunt one out at Menton. Menton is almost 
on the frontier of Italy and France, and that 
has an element of novelty in every-day hap- 



Menton and the Frontier 403 

penings which would amuse an exceedingly 
dull person, and, if that were not enough, there 
is Monte Carlo itself, less than a dozen kilo- 
metres away. 

When one thinks of it, a villa set on some 
rocky shelf on a wooded hillside overlooking 
the Mediterranean, with an orange-garden at 
the back, — as they all seem to have here at 
Menton, — is not so bad, and offers many ad- 
vantages over hotel life, particularly as the 
cost need be no more. You may hire a villa 
for anything above a thousand francs a season, 
and it will be completely furnished. You will 
get, perhaps, five rooms and a cellar, which you 
fill with wood and wine to while away the long 
winter evenings, for they can be chill and drear, 
even here, from December to March. 

Before you is a panorama extending from 
Cap Martin to Mortala-Bordighera, another 
palm-set haven on the Italian Riviera, which 
once was bare of the conventions of fashion, 
but which has now become as fashionable as 
Nice. 

You can hire a servant to preside over the 
pots and pans for the absurdly small sum of 
fifty francs a month, and she will cook, and 
shop, and fetch and carry all day long, and will 
keep other robbers from molesting you, if you 



404 Rambles on the Riviera 

will only wink at her making a little commis- 
sion on her marketing. 

She will work cheerfully and never grumble 
if you entertain a flock of unexpected tourist 
friends who have '' just dropped in from the 
Italian Lakes, Switzerland, or Cairo," and will 
dress neatly and picturesquely, and cook fish 
and chickens in a heavenly fashion. 

To the eastward, toward Italy, the post-road 
of other days passes through the sumptuous 
faubourg of Garavan and continues to Pont 
Saint Louis, over the ravine of the same name. 
Here is the frontier station (by road) where 
one leaves gendarmes behind and has his first 
encounter with the carahiniers of Italy. 

Anciently, as history tells, the two neigh- 
bouring peoples were one, and even now, in 
spite of the change in the course of events, 
there is none of that enmity between the French 
and Italian frontier guardians that is to be seen 
on the great highroad from Paris to Metz, via 
Mars la Tour, where the automobilist, if he is 
a Frenchman, is lucky if he gets through at all 
without a most elaborate passport. 

The traveller from the north, by the Ehone 
valley, has come, almost imperceptibly, into 
the midst of a Ligurian population, very dif- 



Menton and the Frontier 405 

ferent indeed from the inhabitants of the great 
watershed. 

At Pont Saint Louis one first salutes Italy, 
coming down through France, having left Paris 
by the " Route de Lyon," and thence by the 
'' Route d'Antibes," and finally into the pro- 
longation known as the '' Route d'ltalie." It 
is a long trip, but not a hard one, and for vari- 
ety and excellence its like is not to be found 
in any other land. 

The roads of France, like many another leg- 
acy left by the Romans, are one of the nation's 
proudest possessions, and their general well- 
kept appearance, and the excellence of their 
grading makes them appeal to automobilists 
above all others. There may be excellent short 
stretches elsewhere, but there are none so per- 
fect, nor so long, nor so charming as the mod- 
ern successor of the old Roman roadway into 
Gaul. 

The Pont Saint Louis was built in 1806, and 
crosses at a great height the river lying at the 
bottom of the ravine. Once absolutely uncon- 
trollable, this little stream has been diked, and 
now waters and fertilizes many neighbouring 
gardens. 

By a considerable effort one may gain the 



406 



Rambles on the Riviera 



height above, known as the " Rochers Rouges," 
and see before him not only the sharp-cut rocky- 
coast of the French Riviera, but far away into 
Italy as well. 

All this brings up the Frenchman's dream 
of the time when France, Italy, and Spain shall 




Pont Saint Louis 



become one, so far as the control of the Medi- 
terranean lake is concerned, and shall thus pre- 
vent Europe from returning to the barbarian- 
ism to which the '' egdisme hritannique et Vavi- 
dite allemande " is fast leading it. 

Whether this change will ever come about 
is as questionable as the preciseness of the ac- 



Menton and the Frontier 407 

cusation, but there is certainly some reason for 
the suggestion. Another decade may change 
the map of Europe considerably. Who 
knows? 



THE END. 



APPENDICES 



I. 

THE PROVINCES OF FRANCE 

Up to 1789, there were thirty-three great governments 
making up modern France, the twelve governments created 
by Francis I. being the chief, and seven petits gouvernements 
as well. 



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T%e Provinces of France 



409 



410 



Appendices 



In the following table the grands gouvernements of the first 
foundation are indicated in heavy-faced type, those which 
were taken from the first in italics, and those which were 
acquired by conquest in ordinary characters. 



NAMES OF GOVERNMENTS 






CAPITALS 


1. Ile-de-France Paris. 


2. Picardie . 






. Amiens. 


8. Normandie 






. Eouen. 


4. Bretagne 






. Rennes. 


5. Champagne et Brie 






. Troyes. 


6. Orleanais . 






. Orleans. 


7. Maine et Perche 






. Le Mans. 


8. Anjou 






. Angers. 


9. Touraine . 






. Tours. 


10. Nivernais . 






. Nevers. 


11. Berri 






. Bourges. 


12. Poitou 






. Poitiers. 


13. Aunis 






. La Rochelle. 


14. Bourgogne (duch^ de) 




. Dijon. 


15. Lyonnais, Forez et Beaujolais . 




. Lyon. 


16. Auvergne 




. Clermont. 


17. Bourbonnaia ..... 




. Moulins. 


18. Marche ..... 




. Gu^ret. 


19. Guyenne et Gascogne 




. Bordeaux. 


20. Saintonge et Angoumois i 




. Saintes. 


21. Limousin 




. Limoges. 


22. B4arn et Basse Navarre . 




. Pau. 


23. Languedoc 




. Toulouse. 


24. Comt4 de Foix .... 




. Foix. 


25. Provence 




. Aix. 


26. Dauphine 




. Grenoble. 


27. Flandre et Hainaut . 




. Lille. 


28. Artois 




. Arras. 


29. Lorraine et Barrois .... 




. Nancy. 


30. Alsace 




. Strasbourg. 


31. Pranche-Comt§ ou Comt§ de Bourgo 


gne 


. Besan<;on. 


32. Eoussilon 




. Perpignan. 


33. Corse 






. Bastia. 



» Under Francis I. the Angoumois was comprised in the Orleanais. 



Appendices 



411 



The seven petits gouvernements were : 

1. The ville, pr^vCt^ and vicomt^ of Paris. 

2. Havre de Grace. 

3. Boulonnais. 

4. Principality of Sedan. 

5. Metz and Verdun, the pays Messin and Verdunois. 

6. Toul and Toulois. 

7. Saumur and Saumurois. 



II. 



THE ANCIENT PROVINCES OF FRANCE 




412 Appendices 



III. 



GAZETTEER AND HOTEL LIST 

Being a brief r6sum6 of the attractions of some of the 
chief centres of Provence and the Riviera. 

ABBREVIATIONS 

C. Chef-Lieu of" Commune. 

P. Prefecture. 

S. P. Sous-Prgfecture. 

h. Habitants (population). 

* Hotels at nine francs or less per day. 

•* Hotels nine to twelve francs per day. 

*** Hotels above twelve francs per day. 

AIX- EN -PROVENCE 
Bouches-du-Eh5ne. S. P. 19,398 h. 
Hotels : Nfegre-Coste,** De la Mule Noire,* De France.* 
The ancient capital of Provencal arts and letters, and the 

Cours d' Amour of the troubadours. 
Sights : Eglise de la Madeleine, Cathedral St. Sauveur, H6tel de 

Ville, Tour de Toureluco, Eglise St. Jean de Malte, Mus^e, 

Bibliothfeque, Statue of Ren6 d'Anjou, by David d'Augers. 

Carnival each year in February or March. 
Excursions : Ruins of Chateau de Puyricard, Aqueduc Roque- 

favour, Ermitage de St. Honorat, Bastide du Roi Ren6, Gar- 

danne and Les Pennes. 
Distances in kilometres : Marseilles, 29 ; Aries, 80 j Toulon, 

76 ; Roquevaire, 29. 

ANTIBES 
Alpes-Maritimes. C. 5,512 h. 
Hotels : Grand Hotel,*** Terminus.** 
Excursions : Presqu'ile and Cap d'Antibes, Fort Lavr6, Villa 

and Jardin Thuret, La Garonpe, Chapelle, and Phare. 
Distances in kilometres: Paris, 976; Cannes, 12; Grasse, 23; 

Nice, 23 ; La Turbie, 41 ; Monte Carlo, 44 ; St. Raphael, 51. 



Appendices 413 

ARLES 

S. P. 15,506 h. 

Hotels : Du Forum,** Du Nord.** 

Delightfully situated on the left bank of the Rh6ne. 

Sights : Les Arfenes, Roman Ramparts, Antique Theatre, Cath^- 

drale de St. Trophime and Cloister, Les Alyscamps and 

Tombs, Mus^e d'Arletan and Mus^e de la Ville, Palais Con- 

stantin. 
Excursions : Les Baux, Montmajour, Les Saintes Maries. 
Distances in kilometres : Paris, 730 ; Tarascon, 17 ; Avignon, 

39 ; Salon, 40 j Marseilles, 91 ; Aix, 80. 

AVIGNON 
Vaucluse. P. 33,891 h. 
The ancient papal capital in France. 
Hotels : De I'Europe,*** Du Luxembourg.** 
Sights : Ancient Ramparts, Palais des Papes, Mus^e, Pulpit in 

Eglise St. Pierre, Cathedral of Notre Dame des Doms, Ruined 

Pout St. B^n^zet (Pont d' Avignon). 
Excursions : Villeneu.ve-les-Avignon, Fontaine de Vaucluse, 

Aqueduct of Pont du Gard. 
Distances in kilometres : Sorgues, 10 ; Orange, 27 ; Carpentras, 

24 ; Fontaine de Vaucluse, 28. 

' BANDOL - SUR - MER 
Var. 1,616 h. 
Winter and spring-time station, situated on a lovely bay. Small 

port, and in no sense a resort as yet. 
Hotel : Grand Hotel.** 
Distances in kilometres : Marseilles, 51 ; Toulon, 21 ; La Ciotat, 

23 ; Sanary, 5. 

BEAULIEU - SUR - MER 

Alpes-Maritimes. 1,354 h. 

Winter station. Beautiful situation on the coast, with groves of 

pines, olives, etc. 
Hotels : De Beaulieu,** Empress Hotel.*** 
Distances in kilometres : Nice, 8 ; Monte Carlo, 18 ; Grasse, 46 ; 

Menton, 49. 



414 Appendices 

CAGNES 
Alpes-Maritimes. C. 2,040 h. 
Winter station and town " pour les artistes-peintres " in other 

days ; now practically a suburb of Nice, to which it is 

bound by a tram-line. 
Hotels : Savournin,** De I'Univers.* 
Sights : Chateau des Grimaldi. 
Excursions : Vence, Antibes, Villeneuve-Loubet. 
Distances in kilometres : Nice, 12 ; Vence, 10 ; Antibes, 20. 

CANNES 

Alpes-Maritimes. C. 25,350 h. 

On the Golfe de la Napoule, with Nice the chief centre for 
Kiviera tourists. 

Hotels : Gallia,*** Suisse,** Gonnet.*** 

Excursions : lies de Lerins, La Napoule, The Corniche d'Or and 
the Est^rel, Le Cannet, Vallauris, Californie, Croix des Gar- 
des, Grasse, Antibes, Auberge des Adrets. 

Distances in kilometres : Grasse, 17 ; Fr^jus, 47 ; St. Eaphael, 
43 ; Nice, 35 ; Antibes, 12. 

CASSIS 
Var. 1,972 h. 

A charming little Mediterranean port ; near by the ancient cha- 
teau of the Seigneurs of Baux. 
Hotel : Lieutand.* 

Distances in kilometres : Marseilles, 31 ; LaCiotat, 11 ; Bandol, 
34. 

CIOTAT (LA) 
Bouches-du-Rhone. C. 9,895 h. 
Great ship-building works, but beautifully situated on Baie de 

la Ciotat. 
Hotel : De I'Univers.** 
Distances in kilometres : Cassis, 11 ; Marseilles, 43. 

COGOLIN 

Var. 2,102 h. 

Delightfully situated in the valley of the Giscle, at the head of 
the Golfe de St. Tropez. 



Appendices 415 

Hotel : Cauvet.* 

Sights : Butte des Moulins, ChS,teau des Grimaldi. 
Excursions : Grimaud and La Garde-Freinet. 
Distances in kilometres : St. Tropez, 10 ; Er^jus, 34 ; Nice, 
104 J St. Kaphael, 37 ; Hyferes, 44 ; Toulon, 62. 

FREJUS 

Var. C. 3,612 h. 

Hotels: DuMidi.* 

Sights : Roman Arena (Ruins), Old Ramparts, Citadel, Cathe- 
dral {XI. and XII. ceutui'ies), and Bishop's Palace. 

Excursions : St. Raphael and the Corniche d'Or, Auberge des 
Adrets and Route de I'Est^rel, Mont Vinaigre (616 metres). 

Distances in kilometres : Cannes, 36 ; Nice, 78 ; St. Raphael, 3 ; 
Ste. Maxime, 21. 

GRASSE 
Alpes-Maritimes. S. P. 9,426 h. 
More or less of a Riviera resort, thougli seventeen kilometres 

from the coast at Cannes, situated at an altitude of 333 metres. 
Hotels : Grand Hotel,*** De la Poste.** 
Sights : Cathedral (XII. and XIII. centuries), Jardin Public, La 

Cours, Source de la Foux, Sommet au Jeu de Ballon, 
Excursions : Ste. Cezane, Dolmens, Grottes, Source de la Sia- 

gnole, Le Bar and Gorges du Loup. 
Distances in kilometres : Cannes, 17 ; Cagnes, 20 ; Le Bar, 10 ; 

Vence, 28 ; Draguignau, 59. 

HYERES 
Var. C. 9,949 h. 
The oldest and most southerly of the French Mediterranean 

resorts. 
Hotels : Grand Hotel,*** H6tel des Hesp^rides.** 
Sights : Eglise St. Louis (XII. century). Chateau, Place, and 

Ave. des Palmiers, Jardin d' Acclimation. 
Excursions : Mont des Oiseaux, Salines d'Hy6res, Giens and the 

lies d'Or (lies d'Hy^res). 

MARSEILLES 
Bouches-du Rh6ne. P. 396,033 h. 



416 Appendices 

The second city of France, and the first Mediterranean port. 
Hotels : Du Louvre et de la Paix,*** Grand Hotel,*** De la 

Poste, Du Touring (the two latter for rooms only — 2 francs 

50 centimes and upwards). 
Sights : Cannebi^re, Bourse, Vieux Port, Pointe des Catalans, 

N. D. de la Garde, Palais de Longchamps, Chemin de la Cor- 

niche, Le Prado, Cathedral Ste. Marie Majeure. 
Excursions : Chateau d'lf, Martigues, Sausset, Carry, Port de 

Bouc, Aubagne, Roquevaire, Grotte de la Ste. Baume, Estaque. 
Distances in kilometres : Paris, 818 ; Avignon, 97 ; Aries, 91 ; 

Salon, 51 ; Martigues, 40 ; Aix, 28 ; Toulon, 64. 

MARTIGUES 
Bouches-du-Rh6ne. C. 4,689 h. 

"La Venise Proven^ale," celebrated for ^'■bouillabaisse.'''' 
Hotel : Chabas.* 
Sights : Canals and Bourdigues, Eglise de la Madeleine, Etang 

de Berre. 
Excursions : Port de Bouc, St. Mitre (Saracen hill town), Istres, 

Fos-sur-Mer, ChS,teauneuf-les-Martigues, St, Chamas and 

Cap Couronne. 

MENTON 

Alpes-Maritimes. C. 8,917 h. 

The most conservative of all the popular Riviera resorts. 

Hotels : Des Anglais,*** Grand.* 

Sights : Jardin Public, Promenade du Midi, Tete de Chien. 

Excursions : Cap Martin, Italian Frontier, Castillon, Gorbio, 
Roquebrune. 

Distances in kilometres : Monte Carlo, 8 ; La Turbie, 14 ; Ro- 
quebrune, 4 ; Nice, 30 ; Grasse, 64. 

MONTE CARLO 
Principality of Monaco. 

Hotels : Metropole,*** De I'Europe,** Du Littoral.* 
Sights : Casino and Salles de Jeu and de Fete, Palais des Beaux 

Arts, Serres Blanc. 
Excursions : La Turbie, Mont Agel, Cap Martin. 
Distances in kilometres : Paris, 1,017 ; Menton, 8 ; Nice, 19. 



Appendices 417 

NICE 
Alpes-Maritimes. P. 78,480 h. 
The chief Kiviera resort and headquarters. 
Hotels : Gallia,*** Des Palmiers,*** Des Deux Moudes.** 
Sights : Casino, Promenade des Anglais, Jardin, Mont Baron, 

and Pare du Chateau. 
Excursions : Cimiez, Villefranche, St. Andre, Cap Ferrat, La 

Grande Corniche, Eze. 
Distances in kilometres : Paris, 998 ; Cannes, 35 ; Grasse, 38 ; 

Cagues, 12 ; Frejus, 66 ; Menton, 30 ; Monte Carlo, 19. 

SAINT EAPHAEL 
Var. 2,982 h. 
Hotel: Continental. ♦*• 
Sights : Boulevard du Touring, Lion de Terre, and Lion de 

Mer, Eglise, Maison Close (Alphonse Karr), Maison Gounod. 
Excursions : La Corniche d'Or, Agay, Ste. Baume, Cap Koux, 

Valescure, Anth^ore, Thfeoule, Foret and Eoute d'Est^rel. 
Distances in kilometres : Nice, 60 ; Cannes, 43 ; Frejus, 3. 

SAINT TROPEZ 
Var. C. 3,141 h. 
Hotel : Continental.* 
Excursions : La Foux, Grimaud, Cogolin, Ste. Maxime, Bale 

de Cavalaire. 
Distances in kilometres : Marseilles, 120 ; Nice, 90 ; Cogolin, 

10 ; St. Eaphael, 43. 

SALON 

Bouches-du-Rh6ne. C. 9,324 h. 

Hotel : Grand Hotel.* 

Sights : Eglise (XVI. century), Eamparts, Tomb of Nostrada- 
mus. 

Excursions : St. Chamas, Berre, Pont Flavian, La Crau, Les 
Baux. 

Distances in kilometres : Marseilles, 53 ; St. Chamas, 16 ; Aix, 
33 ; Orgon, 18. 

SOLLIES-PONT 
Var. C. 2,100 h. 



418 Appendices 

Hotel : Des Voyageurs.* 

Excursions : Valley of the Gapeau and Foret des Maures, 

Cuers, Montrieux. 
Distances in kilometres : Marseilles, 90 ; Toulon, 15 ; Basse, 25 ; 

St. Kaphael, 77. 

ST. EEMY 
Bouches-du-RhSne. C. 3,624 h. 
Hotel : Grand Hotel de Provence.* 
Sights : Fontaine de Nostradamus, Temple de Constantin, Mau- 

sol^e and Arc de Triomphe. 
Excursions : Tarascon, Les Alpilles, Montmajour, Les Baux, 

Fontaine de Vaucluse, Pont du Gard. 
Distances in kilometres : Aries, 20 ; Les Baux, 8 ; Avignon, 

19 ; Cavaillon, 18. 

TOULON 

Var. S. P. 78,833 h. 

Hotel : Grand Hotel,*** Victoria.** 

Sights : Cathedral Ste. Marie Majeure (XL century), Harbour, 

H6tel de Ville, Maison Puget. 
Excursions : Gorges d'Ollioules, Tamaris, Batterie des Hommes 

Sans Peur, St. Mandrier, Cap Brun, Cap Sici^, La Seyne, 

Six-Fours, Sanary. 
Distances in kilometres : Aix, 75 ; Marseilles, 65 ; Nice, 163 j 

Cannes, 128. 



IV. 

THE ROAD MAPS OF FRANCE 

The traveller by road or by rail in France should, if 
he would appreciate all the charms and attractions of 
the places along his route, provide himself with one or 
the other of the excellent road maps which may be pur- 
chased at the " Libraire " in any large town. 

Much will be opened up to him which otherwise might 



Appendices 419 

remain hidden, for, excellent as many guide-books are in 
other respects (and those of Joanne in France lead the 
world for conciseness and attractiveness), they are all 
wofuUy inadequate as regards general maps. Beally, 
one should supplement his French guide-books with the 
remarkably practical " Guide-Michelin," which all auto- 
mobilists (of all lands) know, or ought to know, and 
which is distributed free to them by Michelin et Cie., of 
Clermont-Ferrand. Others must exercise considerable 
ingenuity if they wish to possess one of these condensed 
guides, with its scores and scores of maps and plans. 
The Continental Gutta Percha Company does the thing 
even more elaborately, but its volume is not so compact. 

Both books, in addition to their numerous maps and 
plans, give much information as to roads and routes 
which others as well as automobilists will find most 
interesting reading, besides which will be found a list of 
hotels, the statement as to whether or not they are affil- 
iated with the Automobile Club de France, or The Tour- 
ing Club de France, and a general outline of the price of 
their accommodation, and what, in many cases, is of far 
more importance, the kind of accommodation which they 
offer. It is worth something to modern travellers to 
know whether a hotel which he intends to favour with his 
gracious presence has a " Salle de Bains," a "Chambre 
Noire," or " Chambres Hygieniques, genre du Touring 
Club." To the traveller of a generation ago this meant 
nothing, but it means a good deal to the present age. 

As for general maps of France, the Carte de I'Etat- 
Major (scale of 80,000, on which one measures distances 
of two kilometres by the diametre of a sou) are to be 
bought everywhere at thirty centimes per quarter-sheet. 
The Carte du Service Vicinal, on the scale of 100,000 



420 



Appendices 



and printed in five colours, costs eighty centimes per 
sheet; and that of the Service Geographiqiie de I'Arm^e 
(reduced by lithography from the scale of 80,000) costs 
one franc fifty centimes per sheet. 

There is also the newly issued Carte Touriste de la 
France of the Touring Club de France (on a scale of 
400,000), printed in six colours and complete in fifteen 
sheets at two francs fifty centimes per sheet. 



iSns2m6fe Cizrte cCe ^Pourzrto 

C/llS cCe ^ojTce 




1. Cherbourg, 
a. Lille. 

3. Bruxelles. 

4. Rennes. 

5. Paris. 

6. Nancy. 

7. Nantes. 

8. Bourges. 

9. Dijon. 

10. Bordeanx* 

11. Clermont. 

12. Lyon. 

13. Bayonno. 

14. Toulouse. 

15. Marseille. 



Finally there is the very beautiful Carte de I'Est^rel, 
of special interest to Riviera tourists, also issued by the 
Touring Club de France. 

The Cartes " Taride" are a remarkable and useful 
series, covering France in twenty-five sheets, at a franc 
per sheet. They are on a very large scale and are well 
printed in three colours, showing all rivers, railways, and 
nearly every class of road or path, together with distances 
in kilometres plainly marked. They are quite the most 
useful and economical maps of France for the automo- 
bilist, cyclist, and even the traveller by rail. 



Appendices 



421 



The house of De Dion-Bouton also issues an attractive 
map on a scale of 800,000 and printed in four colours. 



CARTE ROUTIERE 

FRANCE 

Ichelfc dulSM.OOO. 
Tablegu j'Assemblaflt . 



M * S C » £ 




,J(OLMNDE 



Jbii 



,^*r4., f' '"^«»'' 11 i*''^*^ V V ■ tea"' 




The « Tanrfe " ilfajos 



The four sheets are sold at eight francs per sheet, but 
they are better suited for wall maps than for portable 
practicability. „ 



422 Appendices 



V. 

A TKAVEL TALK 

The travel routes to and through Provence and the 
Eiviera are in no way involved, and on the whole are 
rather more pleasantly disposed than in many parts, in 
that places of interest are not widely separated. 

The railroad is the hurried traveller's best aid, and the 
all-powerful and really progressive P. L. M. Railway of 
France covers, with its main lines and ramifications, quite 
all of Provence, the Midi, and the Riviera. 

Marseilles is perhaps the best gateway for the Riviera 
proper and the coast towns westward to the Rhone, and 
Avignon or Aries for the interior cities of Provence. 
Paris is in close and quick connection with both Aries 
and Marseilles by train express, train rapide, or the 
more leisurely train omnihus, with fares varying accord- 
ingly, and taking from ten to twenty hours en route, 
there being astonishing differences in time between the 
trains ordinaires and the trains rapides all over France. 
Fares from Paris to Aries are 87 francs, first class ; 58 
francs 75 centimes, second class ; and 38 francs 30 cen- 
times, third class ; and from Paris to Marseilles, 96 francs 
55 centimes, 65 francs 15 centimes, and 42 francs 50 
centimes respectively. In addition, there are all kinds 
of extra charges for passage on the " Calais-Nice- Venti- 
mille Rapide " and other trains de luxe, not overlooking 
the exorbitant charge of something like 70 francs for a 
sleeping-car berth from Paris to Marseilles — and always 
there are too few to go around even at this price. 

From either Aries or Marseilles one may thread the 



Appendices 



423 








No. 21 — First class, 29 fcs. ; Second class, 21 f cs. ; Third-class, 14 fcs. 
No. 22— " 8 fcs. 50c. " 6 fcs. " 4 fcs. 50c. 

No. 23— " 17 fcs. " 14 fcs. 50c. " 10 fcs. 50c. 



424 Appendices 

main routes of Provence by many branches of the " P. 
L. M." or its " Chemins Eegionaux du Sud de France ; " 
can penetrate the little-known region bordering upon 
the Eltang de Berre and enter the Riviera proper either 
by Marseilles or by the inland route, through Aix-en- 
Provence, Brignoles, and Draguignan, coming to the 
coast through Grasse to Cannes or Nice. 

The traveller from afar, from America, or England, 
or from Russia or Germany, is quite as well catered for 
as the Frenchman who would enjoy the charms of 
Provence and the Riviera, for there are through ex- 
press-trains from Calais, Boulogne, Brussels, Berlin, 
St. Petersburg, Vienna, and Genoa. Now that the tide 
of travel from America has so largely turned Mediter- 
raneanward, the south of France bids fair to become as 
familiar a touring ground as the Switzerland of old, — 
with this difference, that it has an entrance by sea, via 
Genoa or Marseilles. 

For the traveller by road there are untold charms 
which he who goes by rail knows not of. The 
magnificent roadways of France — the " Routes Ra- 
tionales " and the " Routes Departmentales " — are 
nowhere kept in better condition, or are they better 
planned than here. East and west and across country 
they run in superb alignment, always mounting gently 
any topographical eminence with which they meet, in 
a way which makes a journey by road through Provence 
one of the most enjoyable experiences of one's life. 

The diligence has pretty generally disappeared, but 
an occasional stage-coach may be found connecting two 
not too widely separated points, and inquiry at any 
stopping-place will generally elicit information regard- 
ing a two, three, or six hour journey which will prove a 



Appendices 425 

considerable novelty to the traveller who usually is hur- 
ried through a lovely country by rail. 

For the automobilist, or even the cyclist, still greater 
is the pleasure of travel by the highroads and byroads 
of this lovely country, and for them a skeleton itinerary 
has been included among the appendices of this book 
with some useful elements which are often not shown by 
the guide-books. 

The " Voitures Fubliques" in Provence, as elsewhere, 
leave much to be desired, starting often at inconven- 
iently early or late hours in order to correspond with 
the postal arrangements of the government ; but, when- 
ever one can be found that fits in with the time at one's 
disposal, it offers an opportunity of seeing the country 
at a price far below that of the voiture particuliere. 
Here and there, principally in the mountainous regions 
lying back from the coast, the " Societies and Syndicats 
d' Initiative," which are springing up all over the popu- 
lar tourist regions in France, have inaugurated services 
by cars-alpins and char-a-bancs, and even automobile 
omnibuses, which offer considerably more comfort. 

Concerning the hotels and restaurants of Provence and 
the Riviera much could be said ; but this is no place for 
an exhaustive discussion. 

Generally speaking, the fare at the table d'hote 
throughout Provence is bountiful and excellent, with 
perhaps too often, and too strong, a trace of garlic, and 
considerably more than a trace of olive-oil. 

At Aix, Aries, Avignon, and Orange one gets an imi- 
tation of a Parisian table d'hote at all of the leading 
hotels ; but in the small towns, Cavaillon, Salon, Mar- 
tigues, Grimaud, or Vence, one is nearer the soil and 
meets with the real cuisine du pays, which the writer 



426 Appendices 

assumes is one of the things for which one leaves the 
towns behind. 

At Marseilles, and all the great Riviera resorts, the 
cuisine frangaise is just about what the same thing is in 
San Francisco, New York, or London, — no better or no 
worse. As for price, the modest six or eight francs a 
day in the hotels of the small towns becomes ten francs 
in cities like Aix or Aries, and from fifteen francs to 
anything you like to pay at Marseilles, Cannes, Nice, 
or Monte Carlo. 

VI. 

THE METRIC SYSTEM 

METRICAL AND ENGLISH WEIGHTS AND MEASURES 

Mfetre = 39.3708 in. = 3.231. 3 ft. 3 1-2 in, = 1.0936 yard. 

Square M6tre (m6tre carr6) = 1 l-5th square yards (1.196). 

Are (or 100 sq. metres) = 119.6 square yards. 

Cubic Mfetre (or Stere) = 35 1-2 cubic feet. 

Centimetre = 2-5tiis inch. 

Kilometre = 1,093 yards = 5-8 mile. 

10 Kilometres =6 1-4 miles. 

100 Kilometres = 62 1-lOth miles. 

Squai'e Kilometre = 2-5ths square mile. 

Hectare = 2 1-2 acres (2.471). 

100 Hectares = 247.1 acres. 

Gramme = 15 1-2 grains (15.432). 

10 Grammes = l-3d oz. Avoirdupois. 

15 Grammes = 1-2 oz. Avoirdupois. 

Kilogramme = 2 l-5th lbs. (2.204) Avoirdupois. 

10 Kilogrammes = 22 lbs. Avoirdupois. 

Metrical Quintal = 220 1-2 lbs. Avoirdupois. 

Tonneau = 2,200 lbs. Avoirdupois. 

Litre = 0.22 gal. = 1 3-4 pint. 

Hectolitre = 22 gallons. 



Appendices ^£[_ 



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428 Appendices 



ENGLISH AND METRICAL WEIGHTS AND MBASUKES 

Inch = 2.539 centimetres = 25.39 millimfetres. 

2 inches = 5 centimetres nearly. 

Eoot = 30.47 centimetres. 

Yard = 0.9141 metre. 

12 yards = 11 metres nearly. 

Mile = 1.609 kilometre. 

Square foot = 0.093 metre carr^. 

Square yard = 0.836 metre carr6. 

Acre = 0.4046 hectare = 4,003 sq. metres nearly. 

2 1-2 acres = 1 hectare nearly. 

Pint = 0.5679 litre. 

1 3-4 pint = 1 litre nearly. 
Gallon = 4.5434 litres = 4 nearly. 
Bushel = 36.347 litres. 

Oz. Troy = 31.103 grammes. 

Pound Troy (5,760 grains) = 373.121 grammes. 

Oz. Avoirdupois = 8.349 grammes. 

Pound Avoirdupois (7,000 grains) = 453.592 grammes. 

2 lbs. 3 oz. = kilogramme nearly. 
100 lbs. = 45.359 kilogrammes. 
Cwt. = 50.802 kilogrammes. 
Ton = 1,018.048 kilogrammes. 



Appendices 



429 



VII. 



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INDEX OF PLACES 



Agay, 286-287, 288. 

Agde, 20. 

Aigues Mortes, 28, 93. 

Aix, 5, 17, 18-19, 31, loi, 
156-160, 161, 165, 173, 215, 
250, 322, 412, 424, 425, 426, 
429. 

Allauch, 134. 

Antheore, 288-289. 

Antibes, loi, 305-306, 308- 
312, 330, 412, 429. 

Aries, 5, 6, 17, 22, 29, 30- 
38, 64, 73, 83, 99, loi, 
107, no, 160, 268, 271, 276, 
346, 413, 422, 425, 426, 429. 

Aubagne, 18, 129, 167-168. 

Auriol, 163, 170. 

Avignon, 4-5, 10, 16, 17, 22, 
24, 25, 31, 56, 57, ^2>, 160, 
183, 413, 422, 425, 429. 

Baie de Cavalaire, 254-255. 
Baie de la Ciotat, 184-185. 
Baie de Sanary, 202. 
Baie des Anges, 233, 309. 
Bandol, 189-194, 413. 
Beaucaire, 24, 25, 27, 28, 33, 

107. 
Beaudinard, 129. 
Beaulieu, 229, 233, 344, 352, 

353, 356, 358, 359, 413. 
Bee de I'Aigle, 177, 184-185. 
Bellegarde, 25, 27. 
Berre, 88, 92, 97-99, 120. 
Berteaux, Chateau de, 260. 
Biot, 312-314. 
Bormes, 249-253, 254, 255. 



Bouches-du-Rhone, 20, 56, 
85, 107, 109, 113, 115, 224, 
402. 

Boulouris, 286. 

Cagnes, 231, 324-326, 330, 
414- 

Camargue, The, 7, 38, 57-65, 
66, 107. 

Cannes, 18, 22, 212, 228, 229, 
231, 236, 237, 249, 255, 269, 
279, 283, 285, 287, 288, 290, 
292, 293, 296-302, 304, 305, 

314, 333, 336, 398, 414, 424» 

426, 429. 
Cap Canaille, 180, 181-182. 
Cap Couronne, 113-116, 131. 
Cap d' Antibes, 308, 341. 
Cap de I'Aigle, 131. 
Cap Ferrat, 233, 341, 349. 
Cap Martin, 229, 233, 245, 

351, 358, 399-400, 403. 
Cap Mouret, 211. 
Cap Negre, 201. 
Cap Notre Dame de la 

Garde, 211. 
Cap Roux, 293-294. 
Cap Sepet, 211. 
Cap Sicie, 200-201, 202, 206, 

211. 

Carnoles, 400. 

Carpentras, 16. 

Carry, 116-117. 

Cassis, 177-181, 183, 414. 

Cavaillon, 17, 45, 82, 83, 425. 

Cavalaire, 254-255. 

Ceyreste, 183-184. 



431 



432 



Index of Places 



Chateau Grignan, 12. 
Chateauneuf, 114. 
Cimiez, 344-347. 
Ciotat (see La Ciotat). 
Cogolin, 260-264, 414. 
Condamine (see La Con- 

damiiie). 
Cote d'Azur, ^2. 
Crau, The, 6, 7, 24, 38, 57, 

58, 65-69, 74, 92, 93, 95- 
Cuers, 221, 222. 

Draguignan, 321. 

Elne, 20. 

Embiez (see lies des Em- 

biez). 
Estaque, 134. 
Esterel, 232. 
fitang de Berre, 6, 14, 24, 

63, 72-73, 78, 79, 85, 87- 

106, 109, 118, 120, 172, 424. 
fitang de Bolmon, 105. 
fitang de Caronte, 91, 113. 
fitang de I'Olivier, 92. 
Eze, 350, 351, 353, 3S9-36i, 

363, 365. 

Feuillerins, 350. 
Fos-sur-Mer, 24, 73-74, iio- 

112. 
Fremet (see La Garde- 

Freinet). 
Frejus, 221, 222, 248, 249, 

261, 270, 271-278, 279, 283, 

290, 292, 293, 322, 415, 429. 

Garavan, 404. 

Gardanne, 161, 162, 168. 

Giens, 243-244. 

Golfe de Fos, Ti, io7, 109. 

Golfe de Frejus, 271. 

Golfe de Giens, 239-240. 

Golfe de la Napoule, 233, 

290, 293, 307, 309, 314. 
Golfe des Leques, 179. 
Golfe de Lyon, 107-109, no, 

113, 144, 201, 245. 
Golfe de St. Tropez, 256-261, 

264, 265, 269. 



Golfe Jouan, 19, 302, 305, 

306, 307, 314- 
Gorges d'Ollioules, 194-195, 

197, 198. 
Gourdon, 328. 
Grasse, 307, 319-323, 326, 

329, 415, 424. 
Grimaud, 261, 264-266, 269, 

425- 
Grotte des Fees, 55. 
Grotte de St. Baume, 287. 

Hyeres, 191, 193, 197, 208, 
219, 230, 239, 240-243, 244- 
249, 261, 333, 402, 415, 429. 

If, Chateau d', 136, 137, 156- 

152, 243. 
He de Riou, 136. 
He Pomegue, 136. 
He Rattonneau, 136. 
Hes d'Hyeres (see Hyeres). 
Hes des Embiez, 202-204. 
Istres, 88, 92-95. 
Hes de Lerins, 309-318. 

Jouan-les-Pins, 305-307. 

La Ciotat, 184-189, 414, 429. 
La Condamine, 352, 390, 391. 
La Crau (see Crau, The). 
La Croix, 255. 
La Foux, 259-260, 261, 269, 

270. 
La Garde-Freinet, 239, 266- 

269. 
Laghet, 361-362. 
La Londe, 249. 
Lambesc, 24. 
La Napoule, 233, 269, 283, 

288, 289, 290, 292. 
La Revere, 350. 
La Seyne, 207, 208, 213. 
La Turbie. 233, 336, 351, 357- 

358, 361, 362-366, 367, 368. 
Le Bar, 327-328. 
Le Brusc, 203. 

Le Cannet, 231, 297-298, 301. 
Le Gibel, 181. 



Index of Places 



433 



Le Lavandou, 255. 

Le Luc, 221 

Les Adrets, 294-296. 

Les Aygalades, 134. 

Les Baux, 17, 53-55, 103. 

Les Leques, 189. 

Les Martigues (see Mar- 

tigues). 
Les Pennes, 160. 
Les Sablettes, 207. 
Les Saintes Maries, 24, 60- 

63. 
Les Sollies, 222. 
Le Trayes, 288, 289. 
Lyons, 3, 7, 15, 16, 56, 193, 

255, 307, 335, 344, 381. 

Marignane, 88, 92, 103-106. 

Marseilles, 5, 6, 13, 14, 15, 
16, 18, 20, 25, 27, 31-32, 
63, 72, 75, 82, 85, 86, 88, 
89, 91, 92, 99, loi, 103, 106, 
109, no, 113, 115, 116, 
1 17-155, 156, 157, 160, 161, 
162, 163, 165, 167, 168, 169, 
170, 173, 177, 178, 179, 181, 
182, 183, 186, 187, 188, 191, 

193, 194, 197, 200, 202, 212, 
215, 234, 246, 278, 309, 335, 

348, 373, 401, 402, 415, 422, 

424, 426, 429. 

Martigues, 15, 22, 70-72, 74- 
86, 87, 88, 92, 98, 104, 105, 
113, 115, 120, 160, 178, 402, 
416, 425, 429. 

Menton, 19, 191, 228, 229, 
230, 233, 235, 236, 237, 245, 
344, 351, 352, 358, 366, 368, 
391, 394, 398-404, 416, 429. 

Miramas, 88, 95. 

Monaco, 190, 227, 233, 284, 
344. 351, 364, 370, 379, 380, 
386-388, 390-393, 396-397, 
399, 400, 401, 429. 

Monte Carlo, 21, 161, 183, 
191, 227, 229, 233-235, 244, 
259, 284, 305, 308, 336, 337, 
344. 350, 351, 352, 358, 359, 
362, 363, 370-386, 388-391, 



393-397, 399, 401, 403, 416, 
426. 
Montmajour, Abbey of, 38- 
40. 

Nice, 18, 20, 21, 22, 191, 195, 
212, 221, 229, 231, 236, 237, 
245, 249, 254, 255, 259, 284, 
290, 309, 314, 321, 324, 326, 
332-344, 348-353, 356, 358, 
364, 381, 392, 398, 403, 417, 

424, 426, 429. 

Nimes, 5, 6, 22, 31, 72, 103, 
276. 

Ollioules, 194-198. 

Orange, 3-4, 5, 31, 35, 346, 

425, 429- 

Pas-de-Lanciers, 86. 

Passable, 233. 

Pays d'Arles, 24-41. 

Pays de Cavaillon, 24. 

Perpignan, 20. 

Pignans, 221. 

Pont du Card, 27, 103. 

Pont Flavien, 96. 

Pont St. Louis, 404-406. 

Porquerolles, 240-243. 

Port de Bouc, 73-74, 112-113, 

178. 
Port Miou, 182-183. 
Port St. Louis, 63-65, 121. 
Pradet, 239. 
Presqu'ile de Giens, 240, 243- 

244. 
Puget-Ville, 221. 

Roquebrune, 19, 351, 358, 

363, 366-369, 391, 400. 
Roquefavour, 102-103. 
Roquevaire, 129, 165-167. 

Sabran, Chateau de, 204. 
Sainte Baume, 169-173, 294. 
Salon, 99-102, 105, 158, 417, 
425- 



434 



Index of Places 



Sanary (see St. Nazaire-du- 

Var). 
Seon-Saint-Andre, 135. 
Septemes, 161-162. 
Simiane, 161. 
Six-Fours, 200, 204-207. 
Sollies-Pont, 221, 222-225, 

246, 417. 
St. Chamas, 88, 92, 95-97. 
Ste. Croix, Chapelle, 40-41. 
Ste. Maxime, 269-270, 271. 
St. Gilles, 17, 34. 
St. Jean-sur-Mer, 233, 356- 

357. 
St. Julien, 135. 
St. Mitre, 24, 88. 
St. Nazaire-du-Var, 198-200, 

202. 
St. Pierre, 113-115. 
St. Raphael, 232, 256, 271, 

278-281, 283, 28s, 286, 288, 

290, 417, 429. 
St. Remy, 5, 42-53> 100, 418, 

429. 



St. Tropez, 18, 228, 254, 256- 

259, 261, 269, 417, 429. 
St. Zacharie, 170. 

Tamaris, 207, 208-210. 

Tarascon, 24, 25, 26, 27, 429. 

Theoule, 289-290. 

Toulon, 18, 19, 194-195, 202, 
204, 207, 208, 21 1 -221, 222, 
226, 235, 239, 242, 243, 246, 
270, 311, 336, 349, 418, 429- 

Valence, 3, 12. 
Valesclure, 281. 
Vallauris, 302-304, 310. 
Vaucluse, 24, 25, 43, lOl. 
Vence, 326, 345, 425. 
Ventabren, 102-103. 
Vienne, 5. 
Villefranche, 233, 311, 353- 

356, 358. 
Villeneuve-Loubet, 323-324. 
Vintimille, 351, 400, 



7l 



